𝓛exi

.☘︎ ݁˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 9teen, yours truly

[mewkki]

𝓛exi . . . made in heaven. bucky barnes’ angel. nineteen. made sweetly. mustache enthusiast. dumb & poetic. pretty girl avenue. 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓇𝓎, ࣪ ˖ ੭

masterlist guidelines

disclaimer: my posts are 18+ and contain explict content, MDNI please read at your own risk, I'm not responsible for your media consumption!

asks/messages: open .ᐟ

recent works: painted with you .ᐟ

[suturettee]

smut!

imagine getting your nails done and surprising pope by choosing the same shade for your nails as the tip of his dick!!!!

finding the right shade hadnt been an issue, you had actually discovered the perfect shade of rosy pink the last time you had gone to the nail salon for a mani-pedi. looking over the shelves lined with polishes, you kept going back to the blushy pinks and eyeing the most gorgeous shade. you eventually settled on a cherry red though, your signature summer color, but the shade from earlier stayed in your mind for days after the fact.

it was only after you had sucked pope's cock a day later that you had put two and two together. no wonder you had thought it was such a gorgeous color!

so this time after coming home from the nail solon, you were careful to keep your hands hidden behind your back as you searched for pope. it didn't take long before you realized he was in the bathroom taking a shower.

"im back andyyy," you drawl, smiling as you slip into the steamy room with your hands clasped behind your back. as pope turned to face you at the sound of your voice, you couldn't help but drift your gaze down to see his heavy cock hanging between his thighs as he stood behind the glass door.

"hey baby, i'll be out in sec." he replied with a small smile. you leaned back against the vanity to wait, resting on your palms as you enjoyed your view; pope's sculpted arms coming up to rinse the last of his conditioner out of his hair, the suds sliding down his chest and abs.

after turning off the water and drying his body off, he hung up his towel and crossed the bathroom completely naked, wasting no time to properly greet you.

"d'you have a good time?" pope sighed softly as he pulled you closer by your waist and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. he was warm, smelling of his body soap and just the aroma of pope, making you want to melt into his arms. it was so intoxicating, you could get drunk on his scent if you tried.

"mhmm, and i have a surprise for youuu.." you'd hum, almost whispering as you lean in close to give a him a few more kisses. your hands met with his, interlocking your fingers before leading him out of the bathroom and into the attached bedroom you both shared. "go sit down andy.." motioning for the foot of the bed. he reminded you of a sweet little puppy, pope walking over to sit by himself, his hands coming to rest on his thighs as he watches you with curious eyes.

you follow him over, a smile growing on your face as you move to stand in between his knees while noticing his dick twitching to life, his growing length beginning to lean upright against his thigh.

"ta daaa!" you hold out your freshly manicured hands in front of you, the polish shining in the light of the bedroom. you were so pleased with your selection as now you could 100% confirm it, the color of your nails and the pink head of pope's cock were a perfect match!

"awh, sucha pretty color honey. looks so good on you" pope smiled, taking your hands in his to inspect them closer. the reassurance of knowing you did good paired with him not realizing the full extent of the color choice pulled a giggle from you. you could never lie to pope, so you definitely enjoyed the thrill of keeping this little secret from him.

reaching down between pope's legs with your freshly manicured hands, he let out a soft groan at your touch. your fingers caressing down his shaft once to gently squeeze at his balls, you moved to your knees, positioning yourself between his own. you sighed softly before you spoke, placing one hand at the base of his dick while the other slowly pumped up and down. "d'you notice anything special about my nails andy?.." you teased, pulling pope out of his focus and earning an almost worried look from him.

"uhh.. nmm, let me see 'em again baby.." coming out low and breathy as you still worked him. you slow your hand, almost pausing when your fingers enveloped his head to give him a hint as he hadn't put the two together just yet.

your stomach fluttered at the sight of pope, his breathing labored as he squirmed underneath you, his brows together as he racked his pretty little brain to try and figure out what was so special about your nails.

"they're the same color as your dick, andy.. look.." you couldnt help but smile as you stilled your hands, holding one hand up while you pressed sweet kisses against the head of his cock. the look on his face as he sees the matching nails was so adorable, an almost embarrassed smile coming forward as his hips bucked up slightly into your touch.

"awhh.. heh, y'so sweet for me baby.. so kinky.." pope shuddered out as you continued to pull up and down on his shaft. your lips parted now to press wet kisses that eventually turned into you taking the tip of him into your mouth in thanks.

a whiny "ff-fuck.. fuck, honey.. nghh.." escaped pope as you took him out of your mouth, smacking his head down onto your tongue repeatedly. you gazed up at him through your lashes as you did so before resuming bobbing your head up and down his dick.

you truly enjoyed giving pope head, just from the noises he made alone. but the sight of him sitting up above you, biting his lip with his brows screwed up in pleasure as he sat on his hands to avoid pulling your head down deeper onto his cock though sometimes even that didnt stop him, it made the experience all the more enjoyable.

after awhile though, you could tell pope was wanting more. you had already bottomed out your reach, deep throating him enough to have copious amounts of saliva and tears running down your face and chin. his hands had come free from under his thighs awhile ago, pawing at the back of your neck and hands with whiney moans to try and pull you off of him so he could please you too.

"l-lay on the bed baby, please.." he shuddered when he finally did get you to stop. you obeyed, wiping your chin with the back of your hand as you stood up from between his legs. as you laid down with your back on the comforter you suddenly became aware of the wetness sitting clothed beneath your panties and just how turned on you had been.

it wasnt long before pope had you as exposed as he was, all of your clothes tossed onto the floor where you had been kneeling moments ago. you felt your tummy buzz with anticipation as he lined the leaking head of his cock with your cunt, the folds glistening with wetness of your own.

pope didn't waste any time getting you to where he was as far as your orgasms go. after allowing you to slowly stretch over his thick girth he began pounding into you harder and deeper, his cock pressing needy kisses against your cervix. the sounds you both were making were obscene, your moans turning into cries of pleasure while pope's grunts grew quicker as his pace followed suit. you couldn't focus on much else other than the sound of his balls smacking your ass as he fucked deeper into your weeping cunt. that is, until pope spoke next

"rub your fucking clit, i wanna see those pretty nails baby." and you did as you were told, the pads of your fingers beginning to work your bud as pope fucked deeper into you, his groin meeting yours with a wet slap slap slap. his eyes were glued to the work you were both putting in, his dick disappearing into you over and over as your fingers pulled heavy pants and moans from your lips.

at one point you looked up at pope, his face screwed up in almost a smile? more like he was trying to hide one. you couldn't tell as the familiar warm heat growing inside your tummy was pulling your attention elsewhere.

you didn't know this but pope was almost positive your pretty finger nails matched not only the tip of his dick, but the cute little bud peaking out beneath those very nails as you were chasing your own orgasm underneath him.

he bit back his smirk, as he couldn't be 100% positive of his observation of course. pope made a mental note as he fucked into you faster that he may have to take a closer inspection of your clit the next time he came across her, just to truly make sure. <3

| masterlist |

[groovyangelkisses]

pope calling you “momma” while he’s got you in a chokehold

- 🩰

saved this for mother’s day <3

“i-is that good, momma?” the bed creaks as andrew lays into you from behind; your back almost painfully arched. his knees are caging you in, big thighs bracketing your trembling hips.

andrew’s cheek is pressed to the center of your back, his bruised, strong body draped over yours. with the little pool of moisture collecting in that divot, you can’t tell if you’re sweating, or andrew’s sobbing.

it’s probably andrew sobbing.

no matter how close he is, it’s never enough. no matter how much he clouds your being with rough hands and sweet auburn curls and broad shoulders it’s never enough.

why is why you drag his thick, freckled bicep up, changing your position so andrew is sat up straighter, temporarily stopping his tears and grunts of “so good. so warm.”

with a press of your nails into his arms he whines, instantly wrapping his bicep around your throat. andrew lets out a shaking breath at the feeling of you licking over his freckles, & begins rutting into you again. so deep you can feel the tip of him kiss your tummy.

a fresh, loud new groan racks through him “m-momma! it’s-this-can you feel me? you feel my heart? ‘s all for you. all for you momma, i got you. not lettin go. ever.”

his sweaty chest to your back, the tip of his tongue running along the shell of your ear, his steady heartbeat on your spine. his bicep flexes, the safest little pocket for your pretty head; andrew shudders at the thought.

[groovyangelkisses]

kissing popes bulge through his sweats bonus if he’s wearing no boxers

𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯

i wish you’d come off anon so i could kiss you, this is soooo good! <3

pope’s eyes rolling back and he’s groaning and his hips are bucking off the couch. doesn’t even care that smurf’ll be home any minute & that craig is lurking around somewhere. just wants to feel you close to him, your mutual shower leaving both of your skin warm and fragrant. he almost loses it when you take a long inhale, big hand coming to rest on your head as he whines. leaving little kisses and slobbering on his gray sweats, lip gloss lips leaving a sticky residue. “‘s good… ‘s so nice” all out of breath UGH I NEED HIMMMM

[dirtygir1]

it’s hard trying to ethically goon to Pope Cody when you remember he was genuinely trying to kill himself almost every three episodes of every season

[dirtygir1]

thinking of abbot!just the tip ^.^ thinking of him getting off work pent up and frustrated after a rough shit, waking u and saying he wont go all the way, but he gets teary eyed holding back until it’s tew much 💭

oh god yes…i literally love all things concerning “just the tip”. i’m clocked in i have to go to work tw daddy kink and he’s kinda pathetic and gross whatever i hate him sm

“jaaack,” you push at his bicep, feeling him paw at your panties from behind. “m’so sleepy..” Jack came home and immediately rushed to you, stripping off his scrubs and cradling you in his arms for a big, squeezing hug that’d wake you with a soft wince.

he didn’t waste anytime to come behind you and wrap his arms around you, muttering about what he went through at the ptmc, but it soon fell behind him when his little friend woke up, feeling your warm, plump ass snuggle close to him. “i know baby i know..” he coos, kissing at your shoulder, “just..wanna feel her. missed her, yknow..” he’s pushing the soft cotton down your thighs, his fingers padding up your sticky folds and down to your entrance.

“you always miss her, but she’s sleepy..” you say into your pillow, though Jack knows you better than that. he feels you grind against his hand as he works his fingers into you. “i know she is, she’s also a little sticky,” he perks a brow, pulling his cock out and stroking long and slow. “i won’t wake her up too bad. just wanna give her a lil hug. is that ok momma?”

you giggle softly at the word, the word he uses when he’s really trying to goad something out of you. “mm…i guess. only a small hug, though. just the tip.” fuck. “okay, just the tip. you can go back to sleep baby, i’ll be nice.” he’ll be nice alright.

it’s only when he’s thrusting his tip inside you, soaking his cock and watching your pussy clench around him each time, that he thinks about not being nice. gripping your love handles, brows pinched and lip tucked between his teeth watching you stretch around him, even if it’s just his tip.

“fuck baby, feels so good..” he’d mutter into the room, hearing you sleepily whine and mewl from the side. and he wants to keep this going. doesn’t want to disturb his sleepy girl, who was so kind enough to bless him with her tight pussy. but you just feel too good baby, way too good. he can’t take it.

he’s wiping a tear from his eye with his shoulder, the small groans turning into needy whines, stroking the length that was left without any love from you. he leans up a little watch you face, seeing how your brows crease with the little bit of pleasure, and how you’ve been playing with your clit under the cover the whole time. you probably want it too, pumpkin.

he doesn’t give it much thought after that, sweeping your hair off your neck and taking a light hold of it in his hand, gripping your waist and bending you the tiniest but forward. you don’t even have time to think about the action, because in the split second that it registers, he’s pushing his fat, long dick in you until he can’t anymore, your eyes shooting open you as your senses are intruded upon.

“oh-hooh fu—” you can’t even finish your words before you’re cutting yourself off with a pornographic moan, one that’d make the birds flinch. he groans loudly from behind you, eyes rolling back shut and head tipping backwards. and he’s so mean. not giving you a fraction of a second before he’s pulling out and plunging deep in you at the rate of a rabbit in heat.

“fuck, fuck! Jack!?” you moan out, your arms shooting up to grab whatever you could, sheets and cover in your grip as you clench down on him, your eyes squeezing shut so fast you see the stars. his groans are ragged, tired, raspy. like he’s been screaming all damn night. and his grip on your body is even worse, there’s probably gonna be a bruise there, pumpkin. you understand.

“i know baby, i knoww fuck,” he drawls out, biting his lip as he continued to thrust into you. “fuck you’re so good, you’re so fucking good i-i couldn’t do it pumpkin..” you can barely him him over yourself, and the clapping sound from under the covers that grew louder the quicker he fucked you.

he fucked you like he was running a race. funny for someone with half a leg, right? it was hurried, eager. just how long was he thinking of burying into you like this? “you lied, yer’ a fucking liar..” your words come out shaky, vocal cords moving in tune with the way your body jerked against the bed.

his eyes shoot open, mouth agape as he catches a look at your face: mouth agape in a frown, nose scrunched and eyes rolling to the ceiling. you’re fuckin’ lovin’ it. “i knoww baby i know, i’m sorryyy,” he whines through gritted teeth, and if you could look back you’d see the way his brows are pulled together tight and he’s giving his little puppy eyes.

“i’m sorry baby i just-” he huffs a breath, “you just feel so good. i can’t wait too long, yknow that…” his hand snakes to the front of your throat, hoisting you back against his chest as he palms at your tits, jackrabbitting his cock in you as he plants wet kisses on your shoulder.

“had a long fuckin’ night, needed my girl, ok? i just need you baby,” he puts on that sweet, doting voice he’d usually pair with the signature puppy eyes, he knows what works. knows what has you whining and submitting to his dirty tricks, telling him something like “i love you so much jackie u can use me whenever you want :’(.” like you were doing now.

“daddy’s sorry baby, daddy’s so sorry,” he’s huffing and puffing from behind you, groaning into your ear as he uses your cunt, stuffing you full, hips jittering as he approaches his peak quickly. “baby i-i wanna cum, wanna cum so fucking bad i can’t take it,” he pushes your head to the side, angling you just enough to catch your lips and kiss you hurriedly.

you moan upon impact, snaking your hand backwards to run your fingers through his hair. “i’ll-ill fuckin’ stop if you want but i wanna cum so bad baby, can daddy cum in you? pretty please?” how can you say no to him? you’re already putty in his hands, mouth open as you moan into each others mouth.

“you can cum daddy, m’all yours..always gonna let you use me..!” you whine, and he groans out in relief, whines getting raspy and weaker, bruising your tits in his hand as he comes in you, hips twitches while he fills you, panting over your shoulder as he runs his hand down to your stomach, caressing you lovingly.

“oh baby, you’re so fucking good. can never resist you..” he whispers, pulling his soaked cock out of you with a shudder. “wanna cum..” you whine, rolling onto your back as he lifts up. “i know honey, open your legs for me, mhm. gonna make you cum as much as you want,” us kissing down your stomach, his cum is seeping out of you onto the sheets, “promise.”

[dirtygir1]

honestly, reader cheating on robby bc she work nights with him and robby is always shrugging of her attempts to FUCK and jacks just being a good friend by taking care of her every night >_<

this was supposed to be small. i had a lot of fun with this i got reeeally carried away. multiple positions, kinda referenced his quinn audio?? sue me. downtalking Robby, cheating obviously, Jack finished in you. fuck that Robby guy tho he can’t fuck you like Jack does

venting to him one day about it between patients on like your break, “he just..i dunno he won’t touch me anymore, i think it’s because of what’s happening up in that head but he won’t talk about it with me either..” you’re all pouty, Jack can’t help himself. “i’ll talk to him slugger, you wanna catch a bite with me after work?”

a bite turns hanging out at home after work, which isn’t anything crazy, because you’re all friends. known each other for years. and Jack isn’t a pushy guy, but you notice the way he rubs up your knee, or how he looks at you when you change into comfy clothes.

“is robby still..dodgy?” Jack asks, rubbing at your leg that’s slung over his thigh. your smile fades and you sigh. “yeah. i mean..i just don’t know how to talk to that guy anymore. he feels so far all the time.” “and you’ve been initiating, right? like we talked about?” “yes! i wear fucking sexy, expensive lingerie, i-i touch on him, rub him. nothing.”

you’re closer now, arm to arm with your body turned into his. his brows furrow, rubbing at the growing stubble on his cheek. Jack wraps his arm around you now, palming at your hip lovingly and allowing you to lie on his chest. “and toys don’t..i mean is that still on the table for you?” “i use them..but it just..gets boring after a while. tiring. i wanna have sex, not just..play with myself all the time.”

the image of you with your legs spread, using a dildo or wand on yourself is front and center of his mind. he sees you whining with frustration, bucking your hips needily. jesus. “i mean is it me? did i do something, am i just not sexy anymore? you’d tell me if he told you that, right, Jack?” you’re looking at him with big, tear brimming eyes while you paw at his chest. Jack is a weak man, sweetie.

“of course i’d tell you sweetheart, he’s..Robby’s somewhere else right now. don’t blame yourself you’re..you’re so sexy. sexiest girl i know, that’s for sure.” he gives you a gentle smile, but you’ve still got that pouty, needy look on your face. “really?” “yes really honey, robby’s bein’ real stupid…”

he’s gazing into your eyes, mind racing as he licks at his lips. “he’s being mean too.” “real mean. i’d..never be mean to you.” he can’t help himself when he closes the gap between you two, pushing his lips onto yours. you moan upon impact, fisting his shirt as he grabs at your body, rubbing down your hips before hoisting you fully onto his lap.

he feels how much you need this in the kiss, pushing your tongue in his mouth, your hands snaking up his neck and into his hair, yanking it slightly. the way your body arches into his, legs raising slightly to kiss him harder, pushing him deeper into the couch. you moan when you feel your clothed cunt drag along his bulge, brows furrowing hard before grinding down, getting a sound out of him.

“fuck.” he whispers, still messily kissing you, hands now grabbing at your warming love hands under your big shirt. your ring twists into his curls, making him wince, which makes you pull away. “are you ok??” you pull your hand away, letting him take it softly in his. “your-your ring, got my hair.” your ring. your wedding ring.

“oh my god. Jack i..” you put your hands on his chest, scooting down off his lap, though still straddling his thighs. “i can’t do this with you, oh my god..” you rub your hands down your face, the cold metal against your hot skin feels like a zap. “wha..why not?” he breaths, brows pinched with confusion as he pulls your hands away from your face.

“Robby, Jack. i..he’s my husband i can’t do that to him! i’m so terrible!” you scoff, eyes wide with fear. “you’re not terrible, what’re you scared of? betraying him?? what the fuck has he been doing to you, then?” he pulls you back closer, so close your hands roughly land on his chest.

you pull your head from his gaze, keeping your hands down for distance, but he doesn’t let you. “that’s different Jack, he’s..disembodied right now he’s just distant..” “that’s still neglecting his wife. shutting you out, which is the last person he should be doing that to. i never once shut out my wife. you said it yourself. he’s being mean.”

you pout, whining at the words that sting to your heart. Robby is being mean. he’s being mean to everyone, but you especially. “Jack i..” you scoff, you can’t even find the words, “it’s not right, i mean i love him too much.” “you can still love him, it’s not like im some guy. you know me, sweetheart..” you don’t fight when he kisses down the shell of your ear, trialing slowly down your neck in a way that makes you shiver.

your arms end up at his shoulders, eyes shutting in his touch. “i just wanna help you. been so long for you.” his stubble tickles your neck as he speaks low, almost a whisper. you’ve only heard this sugary tone once before. “been wanting this, right? to be touched like this? kissed like this?” he moves slowly down your comfy shorts, cupping your ass as the cotton slides off at the knuckles of his huge hands.

“yeah..” it comes out more pathetic than you could control, but your heart was pounding out your chest. “yeah..” he nods, kissing back up your jaw and taking your lips in his. “i know. let me do this for you.” you raise up to let him pull off your shorts, and the heat turns up in an instant. the kiss turning passionate, moans and groans trading under tongues as you lift his shirt over his shoulder, “can’t..” you pant, eyes hooded.

“cant happen again,” your hands move faster than you can think, untying and pulling down his scrub bottoms. “only one time. this time.” “this time.” he repeats, and you squeak when his big hand cups your pussy over your underwear, a throaty hum exiting him as he feels how fucking wet you were.

you can’t remember the last time you were so fired up to fuck. grabbing at whatever you could while he fingered you open, accidentally scratching at his biceps as your hips move greedily against him. “you’re so fuckin’ wet sweetheart, want this real bad.” he pants, eyes locked in you as you moan into the air. “please just…Jack please.. need it.” it almost comes as a sob, and he couldn’t ever refuse you. not like this, especially.

“lemme take it out. gonna get it sweetie, promise. gonna give it to you.” there’s that sugary tone again, and you find yourself moving at his command without a second thought, throwing your shirt off your sweaty body and reaching for his leg. you help him pull off his boxers and then his prosthetic, hearing a sigh of relief above him as you set it down.

he moves you back over him, and your eyes widen slightly at the sight of his hung, veiny dick. “jesus you’re..so big,” and he wants to say something cocky. he really does. but he just thumbs at your hip, nodding with a small smirk. “you can handle it.”

your eyes are big on his as you lift yourself over his cock, letting him guide you onto his tip, then his girth. he goes slow, gripping your hips as he rocks you lower and lower, drinking in the little gasps and squeals you let out. “Jack you’re-fuck you’re so big, you’re so fucking big,,” you whine, shaky breaths as you squeeze your eyes shut.

“you’re taking it.” his voice is rasped, quiet watching your pussy engulf him. “you’re taking it baby i promise, you’re fuckin’ takin’ it. so good too, holy shit.” he wants to let all his greedy, jealousy induced thoughts out. can’t believe robby’s missing out on this, fuck. should’ve bagged this pussy forever ago, clearly Robby wasn’t putting it to good use. but it doesn’t exit his mind, not wanting you to feel worse about it all.

“oh yes, oh my god yes,” you moan out, head thrown back as your hips take over, his hands guiding you ever so gently as you bounce on his cock. “fuck you’re..fuck Jack it’s so good,” he moans under you, your pleasure making the butterflies dancing in his stomach as you fuck yourself on him.

“that’s it sweetheart, there you fuckin’ go. y’like that? yeahhh baby, feels soo good.” his eyes roll back, hands grabbing at every curve he could before the moment was over. pawing at your tits, smacking at your ass, squeezing at your belly. you’re everything to him, sweetie.

he can’t help but let himself submit to you in this time of need, in this sweet notion of helping his friend. because that what it really was. just helping his friend blow some steam, she’s just pent up. losing the same amount of calories as if he took you boxing. nothing wrong with it. “yeah sweetie, let it all out. just like thaat, fucking god,” he feels dizzy watching you hump him. your body’s consumed with greed, with a mission in mind.

latching onto him, filling your house with high shaky moans. and he was doing so much for you, and more. grabbing you, holding you lovingly close to him as you ride him into the couch cushion he was leaning his back into you. letting out sweet words to you, praise, helping you through riding him. groaning loudly into the room, the sounds alone coming from him fueling you, swelling your head.

sounds Robby never made. never talked you through it unless it’d been a long time, or till he was close. barely made noise either, no matter how many times youve told him you liked it. you were jelly in Jacks touch. he was pushing you steadily over your edge, whether he touched you or not. he filled you completely, inside and out.

his left hand started shoving you down on his cock, your moans coming out in sharp, quick gasps of air, eyes wide watching yourself slam on his dick and feeling his tip kiss that sponges spot in you. his right hand sucks on his thumb, getting it nice and wet before bringing it to your puffy clit, flicking it in a way that makes you suck in a harsh breath, dragging your nails down his shoulder, a high moan exiting you as you throw your head back.

“fuck ohmygo-Jack!” your moans are bordering on pornographic. and you look fucking delicious. hips bucking up to his touch all jittery, sweat gleaming your tits as they bounce with every move. your nose is scrunched slightly as the side of your mouth sneers upturned, and your brows sitting hard and tightly pinched, so overturned with pleasure you can’t control how loud you are. and Jack is straight up drinking it in.

“you’re so good, you’re fucking me so good Jack, better than i’ve ever fuckin’ felt..!” your words come up high, it’s music to his ears. to get that out of you, to know you’ve been with Robby almost half a decade, and Jack barely moving his hips is the best you’ve felt in that long?

“you’re fucking me, sweetie, and you’re doin’ so good. look at you, takin’ it from me..” his eyes are hooded over your body, his soft puppy eyes working over you in your vulnerable state. “keep using me baby, just fuckin’ take it. haven’t gotten dick like this before, haven’t had this in so long, right? you deserve this. say it.”

it’s barely getting through your ears honestly. your stomach is heaving, your ears are almost ringing, eyes rolling back as you fuck yourself on his thick cock like a toy. “i deserve it..” you slur in heavy pants, eyes rolling back as you feel your heated orgasm approach. “yeah you do. yeah you fuckin’ do sweetheart,” he’s quick to hold you in his grasp when you collapse into him, mushing into his shoulder while you grind lazily.

his arm wraps around you, turning in his place to keep you close, keeping his pace on your throbbing clit as you shudder against him. “there we fuckin’ go, cmon you can do it. been talkin’ about gettin’ fucked for weeks i know you can do it. use me sweetie, use me like you fuckin’ mean it,” there’s a rough, almost degrading tone in his words, and your body submits to him at the impact.

he fucks into you from the side, your leg coming up immediately to let him in deeper, and as he groans in your ear, your dam breaks. “ohhh Jack, oh god, Jack!” it’s one big breath before you’re gasping out again, shrinking into him as your pussy flutters around his dick, stomach so tight as you practically burst under him.

“don’t stop, please don’t stop im..im—” you can’t even finish your words, and Jack doesn’t mind a bit. nodding to your words, his mouth echoing yours, agape with his own groans as his eyes roll back. “let it alll out baby, take it fr’me it’s all yours..” you feel you leg cramp up from how hard your orgasm had hit you, your body falling limp on Jack as he continues fucking into you, removing his hand from your shaking pussy to hold your leg up.

his lashes feel weighted, glittering as he takes in the sight of you, your fucked out face as your eyes rest, down your sweaty body, to where you two met, the creamy ring around his cock glistening and cresting rather nasty strings of cum as he thrusts into you. heat builds in his chest, his cock twitches inside of you and his hips stutter. that cold sweat rolls over him, and he looks to the ceiling with an oh god before back at you.

“that’s it baby, that’s it, that’s fucking it,” his praises to you turn into revelations of the immense pleasure weighing on him. hunching over you and pushing you on your back on the couch, finding the balance to slam into you. you moan in tandem at the new position, the way he lays all his unbalanced weight on your thighs he’s keeping up, slamming into you like it’s beyond his control.

with your back arched off the cushion and your hands fisting st it from the side, you watch his face as he loses his composure, bitting his lip before letting groans spill from him like a music box, eyes rolled to the ceiling as his brows flex to the hairline. “oh my god, can’t even..aghh can’t fucking believe you gave this pussy to Robby,” he rolls his eyes, “did so fucking good, scratching me up and shit you-you’re fuckin’ everything..”

his mouth moves faster than his mind. poor guys lost in the sauce, chest heavy as it turns that familiar red you’ve only seen a few times in the sun. “god you’re so good, gimme a kiss sweetie, so prouda’ you,” you practically yank him down onto you, kissing so sloppily you think drool is getting everywhere because of how over the moon you guys are.

you gasp sharply, feeling his tip kiss at your cervix. you dig your nails into his neck, a high, almost pained moan exiting you through his lips. “Jack you’re—Jack hold on,” you mewl, though feeling him shake his head frantically. “i know sweetie i-im sorry i just-fuck i can’t, icanticanticant,” he moans, and his following groans come up higher, weaker as if he’d been yelling all night (which..he probably has).

“can’t stop, fuck you’re so good, m’gonna cum, baby m’gonna cum,” he doesn’t even try to kiss you anymore, “you’re so good, doin’ so fucking good baby i..” you hear the slapping of skin from between you, feeling impossibly split open as he slams into you, groaning like he couldn’t breath.

with a final loud groan he grabs at the cushion next to your head, eyes tightly screwed as his hips come to a halt, and you feel his dick twitch into you as he finishes hard, the following groans coming out as weak whines. Jack lets his body collapse over you, reaching behind himself to caress at your shaking legs, still panting into each other’s mouths.

“did i..hurt you?” he whispers, you feel his lashes against your crows feet. “no, no. just..was a lot. is your leg ok..?” look at you. all the more worrying. all the more caring, loving. it makes Jack chuckled breathily, shaking his head as he kisses at your cheek. “i’m ok, sweetheart. been through worse.”

he pushes himself off you, giving you a once over for any damage before pulling out, sitting upright next your body. speeding your pussy with his thumb and pointer, in the blink of an eye he’s watching his cum seep out of you and onto your ass, and almost onto the couch cushion had he not cupped his hand under the leakage, stuffing it back in you. “fuck i..i didn’t mean to uh..just got carried away.” he gives you a remorseful look, that he also looks away from to gaze at your beat, puffy pussy.

“are you on birth control?” “no..i stopped a few months ago. we wanted to try for a baby.” your cheek quirked to the side before you pout a little, and Jack feels his heart break a little. “ok. i’ll get you plan b, then.” you nod and lift on, crawling into his lap once again, but this time, you give him a slow, gentle kiss.

“thank you..Jack..” you sigh, feeling him wrap his arms around you. “don’t gotta thank me. just wanted to help you, sweet thing. s’what friends are for.” he joked, making you scoff a chuckle. you nod, “yeah. what friends are for.” for fucking so hard you see stars. of course. “lemme get my foot awake, then we’ll clean up.”

if you’ve sent be a Pope Cody request, trust me i have it, i’m not neglecting! i pushed this forward bc i haven’t formally written for Jack in sooo long, and this was so fun. thank u for the ask!

[love-quinn]

— FOUND OUT.

summary — as his favourite waitress at the only diner in town that’ll still serve him, you’re pope’s girl. doesn’t matter if you have a boyfriend, everybody in town knows you belong to andrew cody. especially your poor neighbours on the other side of your apartment’s paper thin wall. you’d usually try and be more considerate of the noise, but with your boyfriend in the trunk of his car, pope needs everybody to hear exactly what he was doing on the night of the third. for alibi purposes.

warnings — implied age gap (you're late 20s, i believe pope is at least late 30s but that's not even really mentioned at all), mentions of armed robbery, aggravated assault, etc all the stuff they do in the show, i switch between calling him pope and andrew, reader exclusively refers to him as andrew, this isn't a slow burn but the first half is build up, reader’s boyfriend is verbally, financially and physically abusive (physical isn’t shown graphically), smurf cody, slut shaming, pope gets stabbed (also not graphic), kidnapping, murder (and like lowkey torture? he’s trying to make him feel the most pain while he dies),

18+ mdni mild exhibitionism (they want the neighbours to hear), dry humping, pope almost cums in his pants lol, mentions of m!masturbation, fingering, spitting, unprotected piv (bad), sliiiight sub!pope i think? breeding kink if u squint

word count — 11.2k

note — okay listen. i've never written for pope, i've also never written smut before. i had this stupid idea and i texted two of my friends about it and they hyped me up and now i'm here. if this sucks, that's on them, alright. i sat down to write this and figured it would be like 2/3k at most, and suddenly it had been a week and this is by far the longest single chapter fic i've ever written. i have never written smut and it is honestly much harder than it looks, the things i do for shawn hatosy </3

Pope had been waiting almost forty-five minutes.

A long wait wasn’t rare at Doc’s—the service wasn’t why he came after leaving Smurf’s. The diner, wedged by the overpass, sat forty minutes from his house without traffic. Pope didn’t care for the service, the sticky tables, the flickering lights, or even the food. The eggs were too wet, the bacon too dry, the coffee bitter. The sandwiches were both soggy and stale.

Sometimes they had pie, and that was something. Not forty-minutes-out-of-your-way something. But something.

No, there was one reason that Pope found himself in the corner booth at least twice a week, and she was currently being yelled at in the kitchen.

You looked radiant, a picture-perfect idea of a pretty girl. You moved fluidly between the coffee pot, the cabinet, and the sink, like you could perform the motions with your eyes closed. You twinkled while you walked, delicate gold rings on your fingers, earrings catching the light as your head turned towards the window. Like you were made of something that came from space. You looked more tired than usual, the dark circles under your eyes more prominent than usual.

The kitchen at Doc’s was always loud, so Andrew didn’t look up from his drink when shouting began. He had come in early, while the sun was still rising, after a sleepless night spent in his mom’s kitchen listening to his brothers plan a heist. Andrew hadn’t really paid attention to them, too focused on re-running the route from Smurf’s to the diner in his mind—a drive he could make in his sleep.

The line cook at Doc’s was an asshole. That was the first thing he’d noticed after pulling off the main road into the nearly empty parking lot. Andrew had stumbled in, bloody under his jacket. A deep gash, halfheartedly bandaged days before, ached beneath his clothes. He almost collapsed into the corner booth.

Johnny had been yelling then, too. But that time, he was behind the bar countertop, following you around as you tried to tidy up. “I don’t need to be babysitting you,” he scowled, getting in your way constantly. “First it’s the fuckin’ tickets, then it’s the drinks, for fuck’s sake. I know you don’t have much in that pretty head of yours, doll, but I didn’t realise you were honest-to-god fucking stupid.” He grabbed you at the scalp, not squeezing hard enough to hurt, and gave your head a shake. “Or were you too busy whoring yourself out tonight to remember you got a fuckin’ job to do?” His hand lingered, like he was unsure of what to do with it.

“Baby-” That word had snapped Andrew right out of it. He’d been dazed for days, since he’d got nicked right near his ribs and had lost so much blood he’d been tanner in prison. The harsh words hadn’t fazed him, he was ashamed to admit, but hearing you turn and address the man so sweetly, like he hadn’t just called you a slut in front of the empty dining room.

“No, no,” He snatched a white coffee cup out of your hands. “I get it. My big girl’s gotta do her big girl job. Right, honey? You think you’re something special ‘cause old Ron said you got a nice smile?” He slammed the mug down so hard that Andrew heard it break. You jumped about half a foot in the air and seemingly went into fight or flight. You’d scampered away, pulling the bar top up where it turned into a gate to come move around the dining room. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? I’m talking to you.” He’d called out your name, and Andrew had committed it to memory right then and there.

“I’m working, Johnny,” you’d turned around then, in a huff. Chest rising and falling, Andrew tried not to focus on the movement of your breathing. “Doing my job, like you told me.”

Johnny watched you wipe down a table and shove the chairs in haphazardly. “Yeah,” he scoffed. “Now you wanna fucking work. Remember that flashing your tits’ll only get you out of paying rent so many times, did you?”

“Hey!”

Pope hadn’t meant to shout. Hadn’t planned on drawing attention. He hated watching you be diminished by your boss and wanted to intervene. But he felt dizzy, and you looked like the kind of girl who’d rather no one witness her shame, as twisted as that was.

Both of your heads snapped to him. Johnny’s angry, yours petrified, and Andrew felt like maybe he had made things worse for you.

Pope knew he couldn’t go in too aggressively; you were already shaking your head at him, hoping desperately he wouldn’t make a scene.

“Can I order or what?” he said gruffly, pressing his hand to his side as he slumped into the booth.

He watched Johnny grip you by the arm, hiss something in your ear, and then push you toward him. You looked more shaken than hurt, embarrassed that he had seen it than sad it had happened.

With how sweet you had been to Johnny, he’d expected you to be kind of meek. Andrew had seen your type before. Small-town girl moves to her closest approximation of a big city. Too poor for San Diego, but dreams big enough to get as close as possible. Got saddled at a dead-end food service job with an ass for a boss. Didn’t need Pope white knighting for you when he just knew your boss was going to yell at you the second he left.

Instead, you came right up to him, locking your gaze with his. Like it had never even happened. “You know what you want?” You flashed him a smile, pen already poised to write down his order.

“Uh,” Pope hadn’t even glanced at the laminated menu on the table.

You snorted, covering your mouth with your notepad. “All that tough guy stuff, you didn’t even know what you wanted?” Andrew had been suffering blood loss for at least two full days by that point, but your laugh made him feel like he was floating. “How about some coffee, huh?”

He heard the kitchen door slam behind Johnny. You didn’t even look behind to where he’d stormed out. Didn’t even flinch.

“Ignore him,” you said softly, unbothered. “He’s a little bitch. Smiled at a customer too long, made him jealous.” You grinned like it was a joke—like his words were just a harmless flaw.

Andrew looked up at you. There was a red mark on your arm where Johnny had grabbed you. “So what’re you doing now then?”

You laughed again, brushing your fingertips against the arm he had resting on the table. “If you pick coffee, then I can make it right here for you, no kitchen required.”

That had sounded pretty good to him, so Andrew nodded. You beamed down at him, shoving the notepad in the front pocket of your apron. “Now, I don’t know what you heard from him.” You had jabbed your chin towards the pass to the kitchen, heat lamps basking the wall in warm golden glow. It didn’t hold a candle to you. “But I promise not to flash my tits at you.” You nabbed the menu off the table and turned back to step behind the bar countertop. “I won’t stop you from looking up my skirt, though.”

Andrew had laughed so hard he felt like he popped one of his shitty stitches.

It became routine after that. Whenever he had to pull an all-nighter, he’d stop by Doc’s and come get a cup of shitty coffee and a dose of lovely girl.

Johnny hated Pope, but you said that was normal with customers, telling him not to get a big head. Yet Johnny kept taking Pope’s money and letting him sit in the corner booth for hours. Pope always tipped big; the money was bloody, but better in your pocket than his.

He told himself that’s why he kept coming back. He wanted to help you out. You were a sweet girl. That was it.

The dining room was no longer deserted like it had been that morning. There were a few other waitresses and a few other chefs bustling around. You and Johnny seemed to always be there, though. Pope had already waved off two teenage girls who tried to take his order.

"You think you’re better than this place?”

He couldn’t hear your muffled reply, but he heard the way Johnny laughed.

“Nah,” Johnny got louder, voice deeper. “Some fucking clown tells you you’re too pretty to be holed up here and suddenly you’re too good for me?” There was the sound of metal on metal, ringing out through the diner. The other patrons all looked up, some nervously, some annoyed. “You think he likes you? Sweet little girl, always so pretty for him, huh? Letting him ogle you like that? What do you think is gonna happen, sugar? He’ll take you somewhere nice, pull you out of this shithole?”

He still couldn’t hear you, ears straining to make out words over the noise. Baby - being nice - love you.

“You know exactly how this is gonna shake down, don’t you?” Johnny lowered his voice just slightly. “He’ll fuck you, then he’ll run, and you’ll be left here asking me for a ride to work. You know that, right? I know you got nothing but rocks up there, but you can see that, surely?”

Pope couldn’t even make out your voice that time, but he figured you’d replied when Johnny laughed, roaring and cocky. “Oh, no, baby. Don’t you roll your fuckin’ eyes at me. You know exactly why I’m mad. You like me mad. You drop your fucking panties for any guy who walks in the door, and I’m meant to act like I don’t see it? No, baby, I’m not the bad guy. You do this shit on purpose. You push, and you push, and one of these days you’re gonna forget just how good you have it.”

Andrew already fucking hated Johnny, but the afternoon you’d sheepishly admitted Johnny wasn’t just your boss—he was your longtime boyfriend—made Pope’s blood boil so much that he’d almost crushed that fucking coffee cup in his hand.

“Yeah, my girl doesn’t need reminding who’s good to her, does she? Where’s your fucking attitude now, huh?” More murmurs, you sounded upset now, not soothing. “Yeah, not so fucking tough anymore. You think that fucking loser’s gonna save you-?”

Andrew heard your voice - don’t - and then dead silence. He thought for a sickening moment that Johnny had kissed you to shut you up, and that he was going to have to think about that on the drive home instead of how you’d traced the knuckle of one of his hands.

Then, you emerged. Head ducked, straight for his booth. He sat up straighter. Your chest was shaking, and this time, he didn’t have to stop himself from looking; his eyes were glued to your face.

He said your name softly, reaching a hand for you. You stopped short. “Can I get a ride?”

Your eyes were red, tears streaking thick black tracks down your cheeks. There was a mark on your collarbone. Pope was up in an instant. “I’ll fucking kill him-”

“He just grabbed me, I want to go home-”

“Just grabbed you?” He scoffed. You were both talking quietly, voices low to avoid the breakfast rush from feeding on your insides. “I’m going to fucking kill-”

“Andrew,” you snapped, “I want to go. Can I get a ride or not?”

Pope had driven you home a few times in the six months he’d been frequenting the diner. Sometimes you and Johnny would fight, and Johnny would take off without you, leaving you stranded and sheepish as you stood by the corner booth, looking like you wished the earth would swallow you.

But he’d never seen you leave without Johnny. This was new.

He handed you the fifty in his hands - the piece of pie he’d been waiting on plus tip (he wasn’t gonna let that asshole take it), and you didn’t argue, just shoving it in the pocket of your apron. You never accepted his money without a fight, usually, but that time you took it, stalking off towards where Andrew had parked his car.

“You wanna go to your place?” Andrew would never have asked, have given you any inkling you were welcome at his house, if you hadn’t looked so upset. He didn’t want you anywhere the fuck near his family - especially Smurf. She had no idea he’d been coming there three times a week for almost six months. It wasn’t any of her fucking business. Still, he wasn’t going to let his mom sink her claws into you the way she had with Julia. To maim. Not to cage, like with him.

But Andrew also knew that Johnny owned your apartment building. That was how you’d met him, apparently. At first, it had been kind of fun, you’d admitted to him one night the slight Johnny had hurled at you hadn’t been without merit. “Sometimes I couldn’t make rent that month, so I’d just have to… You know.” Pope felt like he was going to be sick. “It made me feel special, like I was in on something the other people weren’t. Then one time we had a fight and he wouldn’t get someone to fix my AC.”

Pope was going to fucking kill him, and there wasn’t anything he could think of that would stop him. He’d fantasise about the ways on the drive home some mornings, imagining the life draining out of Johnny’s eyes the way Pope had watched the life drain out of yours. Maybe he’d take a knife to him, watch his blood soak the concrete. He had a gun; he could use that. Or maybe Pope could just drag him out to the half-alley where Doc’s dumpsters were and beat the shit out of him until he was unrecognisable.

Those were second only to the other fantasies he’d have. The ones where you would find out, devastated by your boyfriend’s death, and turn to him for comfort. The ones where you’d kiss him and tell him he saved you. The ones so vivid he’d have to pull off the road and deal with it, lest he go and meet up for a job with a boner.

All of them involved your fucking boyfriend six feet under, and Pope getting the chance to show you how much better he could treat you.

Sometimes you chatted, airily telling him stories about funny customer interactions you’d had, or about something silly you’d seen on your phone. Sometimes you stayed silent. Most of the time, if Pope was driving you somewhere, it was because you and Johnny had gotten into a fight and he’d left you stranded.

“I’m gonna need to ask for your number,” you’d joked one night, standing in front of the open passenger door, bent at the waist to shove your head back in the car. “That way I can come and bug you whenever.”

Andrew would’ve handed it over without hesitation, but you’d giggled and shut the door, flouncing back up to the staircase leading to your apartment on the second floor. That afternoon, Johnny had taken your elevator pass, so Andrew dropped you off around the back. Your apartment building felt more like a motel: your front door was external, the apartment hallway served as an entryway, and a patio. He watched you bound up the stairs with the energy of someone who hadn’t worked the night shift, hauling yourself up on the railing and flashing him a beaming smile as you reached your door.

Now, you sat in silence. When Andrew pulled into the back lot of your place, you sat there, seatbelt buckled behind your back—which made Andrew nervous, but he was in no position to ask you to obey the laws of the road. “Do you want to come in?”

The closest Andrew had come to being inside your house was when he’d walked you to your door one night when it was raining. “Johnny…?”

You shook your head, still not looking at him. Your gaze was locked on your lap. That summer had been unbearable, so you’d opted for skirts rather than pants. You wore really pretty outfits a lot of the time, even if they were hidden under your apron. Floral sleeveless tops that showed off your collarbones and made him feel like a fucking teenager, practically salivating at the sight. Skirts that ended at mid-thigh, oftentimes shorter than the apron you wore tied around your waist. Your thighs were on display, and Pope had been very tastefully looking at them - you couldn’t ask him not to look, that wasn’t fair.

“He’s pulling a double,” you said, “Can’t flake out on it either, Doc’s is going under.”

That wasn’t necessarily surprising to Pope. Doc’s had a few die-hard patrons, people that he’d see multiple times a week or month. Other than that, it was usually empty. Which is why the line cook seemingly felt no shame in bullying his girlfriend in the middle of the dining room on a weekly basis.

Part of Pope felt bitter. Good. That asshole deserved it. Maybe they’d knock the building down and turn it into a Whole Foods or some shit. But most of him was thinking about you. Doc’s was your only source of income, and most of your money you got from his tips. Would you still see him if the diner closed?

He followed you up the stairs, standing guard beside you as you rifled through your bag for your keys. That was how Andrew felt about himself a lot of the time when it came to you. A guard dog. Someone to protect you, whether it was from Johnny or Smurf or guys who called you ‘darlin’ and got too close to your face at work. Not necessarily someone to keep around, but someone useful.

Your apartment looked exactly like Pope thought it would from the glimpses he caught through the windows (and the listing he’d found online) (your boyfriend had your apartment listed at all times, ready to strike if you pissed him off too bad) (Pope hadn’t mentioned it to you, but he kept it in the back of his mind always).

There were little touches that weren’t included in the estate photos he’d found online. The tack-on wallpaper you had up in the kitchen, the soft blankets you’d tossed over the couch.

“Sorry for the mess,” you sounded upset, but you had been since the diner. Pope didn’t want to think about it being his fault. What really worried him was the palpable sense of tension, as if there were too many words left unsaid hanging in the air. Pope looked back over at you, mouth open to tell you not to worry about it, but was interrupted by the look on your face. Eyebrow raised, eyes still red-rimmed from the incident in the diner, mouth curled downward. “No, stop. You’re gonna say it’s cute, or whatever, but it’s not. It’s gross, sorry. I didn’t think I’d have company today.” You seem to be in waitress mode even at home, straightening things and moving to put dishes in the sink. Pope caught sight of a dirty laundry basket and almost got lightheaded.

“Do you want something to eat or drink?” You asked, kicking the laundry basket into another room and shutting the door with your elbow. Pope couldn't shake off a sense of impending crisis; each of your movements was more hurried than usual, like a tightly wound spring ready to snap.

Pope hovered awkwardly in the living room, scraping his eyes over as much of your stuff as he could. Your chipped mugs, the 90s girl-group poster covering water-damaged walls. Your things were clearly well-loved and well-worn, but seldom maintained. You took good care of your things out of love, but not enough to stop them from breaking. Enough to keep them useful. Pope wondered if his usefulness would run out. “Is the coffee better here?”

You snorted, untying your apron and dumping it on the sofa. “I won’t spit in it?” You offer like it’s some sort of consolation prize.

Pope couldn’t stop the words stumbling out of his mouth, “Why not?”

He wanted to ask him what exactly had gone down in the kitchen, talk to you about it, tell you to dump him, do a billion things to you. There was the small problem of you finding out how much of a fucking loser he felt about you.

“Sit,” you said softly. He sat. He watched you mill around, both cleaning the kitchen and making him a cup of coffee in the same motions. When you handed him the cup, he looked up at you. It was well and truly mid-morning by that point, and the sun was filtering through the kitchen windows and hitting your face.

“You okay?” He finally asked. He didn’t want to overstep; he also felt like it wouldn’t be appreciated. Pope wanted to be something, not just another asshole who took control of your life. You’d been in a rough spot when you’d met Johnny. Pope didn’t want to be another Johnny. So, he kept his mind firmly on the task at hand and not on the fact that your bedroom was on the other side of that wall.

You looked at him, and Pope felt his stomach fall. He’d never seen you look like this before. “I want you to kill him.”

It was a burst of anger, uncharacteristic of his sweet girl. Pope couldn’t take his eyes off you, but he still felt like he’d blinked and missed you already.

“Wha-”

You rolled your eyes, kicking off your sneakers and curling up on the sofa near him. He could smell your perfume. He was going insane —you were too close—far too close for how well-behaved he was trying to be. Too far away to do the things he was trying not to think about doing.

“I’m not stupid, Andrew,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “I know who you are. I know what you do. I know your whole schtick.”

Hearing someone call his family’s incredibly lucrative and prolific crime empire a ‘schtick’ kind of snapped him out of it. “You…?”

“Like, two weeks after the first time you came in, I went to a party and someone asked if I was Pope’s girl.”

Fuck. Fuck. He’d wanted to keep you all from it. From Smurf, from the rest of his family. From Pope.

When he was with you, he didn’t have to be Pope. He didn’t have to be whatever the fuck he was, whatever people called him. Didn’t have to worry about the fucking drugs, or the heists, or all the people he’d murdered at the behest of his mom.

Being asked to take care of someone wasn’t an uncommon thing for him.

You seemed to register the worry on his face, scooching closer on your small sofa. Pope felt dizzy. “I said yes,” you admitted, cheeks warm. “I don’t know why. I just wanted him to leave me alone, and when you were brought up, he seemed to think twice about fucking with me. It was nice.”

Your earlier words played back in his head, about how it had been with Johnny at the beginning. Like being in on something that no one else was.

Andrew said your name, low and mournful, like it might be the last time.

“I’ve heard stuff,” you rushed, needing to get your point across before he cut you off and walked out of your life forever. “Stuff about the Codys- you guys. About you, Andrew. Pope. I had a little trouble picturing you as him. You’re always so nice to me, I couldn’t imagine you doing something like that.”

Good. Andrew hoped to god it stayed that way. You were the one good thing he had ever let himself have, and he barely even fucking had you. Still, it had all managed to catch up to him.

“But then I thought about it.” Your voice was quiet. If Pope strained, he could hear voices behind him, on the other side of the wall. “And I thought about it. And I kept thinking about it every time I saw you. I can’t get it out of my head.”

Pope felt his eyes sting. He was not going to cry in front of you. He’d sooner run out the door and ghost you.

“Please say something.” It was clear you had expected him to be much further on board faster than he had been.

He just sat there for a moment. Every second that went by, every tick of the clock on the mantle, every drip of the kitchen sink Johnny refused to look at, every blink of Pope’s eyes, felt like they got longer and longer between them.

Pope had an issue. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to kill Johnny - Pope would’ve done so already if he had known you wouldn’t grieve his death like he had believed you would. But he didn’t want to be the guy you leant too heavily on and grew to resent.

"You want me to kill him?"

He’d expected you to look surprised, to tell him you hadn’t really wanted to take him up on the offer or whatever. Instead, your eyes sparkled as you nodded.

"I want him to die, Andrew."  You said it so gravely, so seriously, he had no choice but to believe you. Unless you’d become an informant, which, knowing his luck, was not out of the question. “You’re a good man. You deserve to do it. I can forgive you for it.”

You wanted to do it yourself, had ever since you’d found out about the habits of the sweet, quiet man who came in and stared at you too long. But wanting to kill someone and actually killing them were two different stories. This was giving you an out. You didn’t need to rely on Johnny, on his hot and cold, on his temper.

You wanted to do it yourself, had ever since you’d found out about the habits of the sweet, quiet man who came in and stared at you too long. But wanting to kill someone and actually killing them were two different stories. This was giving you an out. You didn’t need to rely on Johnny, on his hot and cold, on his temper.

Doc’s was going under, and you’d been looking for another job. Looked at maybe going back to school. You’d been in your third year of college when you met Johnny. That was a lifetime ago.

If Johnny died, the building would be bought by Mr Carlton, the older man who owned all of the first floor and almost all of the second floor. Rent would be a little higher, but you wouldn’t have a boyfriend who could decide he wasn’t going to give you shifts while you were on your period, because if you couldn’t give him what he wanted, then why should you get what you want?

A steady source of income, maybe a future, control over your life again. Johnny had to fucking go.

And who deserved to do it more than Andrew? Sweet, sarcastic, charming, respectful, Andrew. He’d never overstepped, never once given you the ‘you deserve better’ spiel. Never once made you feel like he pitied you or judged you. Knew his place. His good behaviour deserved to be rewarded.

And so, you made a plan. He’d suggested planning it out to give you more time to chicken out, as he somewhat believed you would.

Johnny would be going out of town the month following, for a whole ten days. That meant there were ten days which nobody would notice his disappearance. Pope planned it all, how he would do it, where he would dump him, and the excuse he would give his brothers.

Baz had pulled him aside and asked if he’d gotten a girl, but Pope had stayed silent, stewing bitterly. It wasn’t out of any real interest in his life; it was out of selfishness. He’d noticed how long it had been since he’d caught Pope looking at Cath.

You quit Doc’s and started working at a coffee shop closer to your place. The hours were consistent, the pay was regular. You didn’t even care that your coworkers weren’t very nice, and you weren’t making as much in individual tips. You wanted something concrete.

You and Pope started “dating.” You suggested it as a reason you guys had been hanging out so much: if one of your neighbours squealed. All that involved was letting Andrew drive you home, letting him call you ‘baby’ in earshot of your coworkers, and letting him keep his hand on the back of your thigh for just a little too long.

Pope was paying your rent — something that annoyed you, but you couldn’t stop. Johnny had threatened to evict you when you and he split, done in a screaming match at Doc’s, surrounded by as many people as you could swing. It needed to be public and final. You’d almost been rendered homeless, but Pope had offered to reach up and spend more than the heightened rent Johnny had started enforcing. Andrew knew Johnny knew he wasn’t going to get more rent out of anybody than some sucker who wanted to fuck Johnny’s ex-girlfriend.

He spent the entire month leading up to it with his family. Made himself as available to them as he could. Told you not to call him while he was at Smurf’s, told you so softly and so sweetly they’d rip your fucking throat out that you had no choice but to listen. He forced himself into so many situations that, when the day came, they were honestly grateful for a reprieve. Nobody would be calling him that week.

Johnny was smoking a cigarette when Pope got him. Sharp and fast, a quick slash to the side under the ribs, grabbed by the hair. Kicked on the back of the knees and shoved to the ground. Some of it had been overkill. The grip Andrew had kept on Johnny’s greasy hair, almost ripping it out from how forceful he was. Zip ties to the wrists, enough shoved in the mouth that even when Johnny realised it was Pope and started yelling, only muffled groans could be heard. Nobody had been in the parking lot of Johnny’s - Pope had planned as much, but seeing it work out felt vindicating.

Not as vindicating as watching Johnny bleed out all over the tarp Pope had lined his trunk with for the occasion. His hands, the hands that had touched you in all the wrong places, were almost completely severed at the wrists. Johnny’s fingerprints would be burned off, and his teeth would be knocked out, but he wanted to wait until the bastard was dead for that part. Not to spare him the pain, but because he wanted to take his time on it without having to listen to that miserable fuck whine the entire time.

He was still alive when Pope pulled into your apartment. You’d been at work all morning and had just gotten home (Pope still felt guilty about making you take the bus, even though his car had been in use at your request). That way, when the coroners eventually examined him, if they found him too quickly, they’d get a time of death you were both well and truly accounted for.

He’d hoped he’d catch sight of one of your neighbours on the way in, had spent the past month stopping to chat to each and every one of them, so they wouldn’t think it out of the ordinary if he did it on his way up to you. The staircase, the patio, and even the parking lot were all dead.

So, he pulled out his keys and made a big show of dropping his keyring and clattering about with it before unlocking the door. “Baby?”

You were in the kitchen, still in your work clothes, looking radiantly at him. More dream than girl, Pope could’ve sworn you glowed. “Andrew,” you beamed at him, speaking a little louder than necessary. Not unnatural. “How’s Lena?”

He’d offered to take his niece out for the morning, which kept her away from Baz and gave Pope some time with her. Made for a really good alibi if someone asked him where he’d been that morning. He’d felt kind of gross for dragging the poor girl into it, but his desire to see her had won over.

“She was good,” Pope shut the front door, dropping his stuff in. “We went to the beach, got ice cream, had some lunch. She says hi.”

Lena absolutely did not say hi. Pope hadn’t let a single thing about you slip, even to her. But he liked to think that if she did know who you were, she would’ve said hi.

Pope discarded his jacket on the hook by the door. You didn’t keep your space particularly tidy, but since he’d started coming over, you had made more of an effort. Clearing room for him to keep his things, jacket on the hook, shoes on the rack, keys in the bowl. It felt so painfully domestic that Pope could almost pretend this whole thing was real.

After that first time in your place, Pope had been struck by just how much of the apartment felt like you. It wasn’t overly decorated, you didn’t make enough money to have one of those Pinterest board apartments Andrew knew you were secretly obsessed with.

But there was nothing in this apartment, even the first time he’d been inside, that indicated you had a boyfriend. At least... There hadn’t been before.

Now, Pope’s stuff was everywhere. His dishes in your sink, post-its on your fridge reminding you of when he was working or telling him when you were. One of his jackets over the back of your sofa. He was one step away from keeping a damn toothbrush in the cup with yours.

You came close to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and stretching yourself up so your mouth was right beside his ear. “Did you do it?”

Pope’s hands were pressed to your back, one of them lingering where the hem of your shirt sat, inches away from slipping his palm to lay against your bare skin. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. You squeezed him. “He’s in the car. I’ll hang out here for a while, then I’ll go dump him.”

He hadn’t told you where he’d been planning on taking Johnny. You hadn’t asked. You didn’t need to know where he was lying, just that he was rotting. That you’d never have to feel his hands on you again.

“No one saw me,” he said. He felt you frown against his neck. The two of you had been hoping at least one of your neighbours would catch sight of him organically. The building's walls were thin; you could hear people on both sides of you.

“Shit,” he felt you exhale. “We need someone to be able to validate that you’re here.”

He let his hands shift, rubbing the skin of your back gently through your top. His thumb brushed the sliver of bare skin with a featherlight touch. You didn’t move away.

The two of you stood there for a moment under the guise of thinking. There was the faint clatter of a dish being bumped into through the wall, followed by a muttered curse word.

“Maybe they could hear us doing something?” He suggested. “Like, we could talk really loud?”

You pulled back enough to see his face, but not so much that he had to let go. “What would they hear?” you asked quietly, a smile tugging the corner of your lips up.

The silence hung low in the air, filling the space and shoving the two of you closer together. You were wearing a pretty blouse and a denim skirt, straight from a morning at the coffee shop. Pope didn’t want to be the one to suggest it.

“Andy…” Your voice was soft in tone but loud enough in volume that he was pretty sure that your neighbours could hear. You’d never called him that before. Your hands moved from resting behind his neck to caressing his jaw with your thumbs.

“Hi, baby,” the words ghosted your face, barely audible. Your face split out in a grin.

“Wanna see my bedroom?”

Andrew had seen your bedroom before, but he had never been inside. He’d only ever caught glimpses when you came in or out, or through the cracked door, or on the online listing.

Your bedsheets had little daisies on them. They felt soft under his fingertips. Your duvet was bunched up towards the head of your bed. You’d shoved him inside, giggling at the absurdity as his knees hit the back of your bed.

“Okay, wait.” You bent over, desperately trying to at least half-make your bed while he was sitting on it. You weren’t actually going to fuck him, you just needed to make the neighbours think he was giving you a good time. Well, it didn’t have to be good, but it would hurt his ego a little if he couldn’t fake fuck you well.

Then, you sat down on the rumpled duvet beside him, unable to keep the grin off your face. “Okay, wait,” you said again. “Alright…”

The two of you sat there in silence for a moment before finally you let out a noise. A soft, barely-there, contented sigh.

Pope laughed.

You reached over and hit him. “Sorry, asshole, I’ve never tried to make my neighbours think I’m having sex before,” you hissed. He held his hands up in surrender, trying to take you seriously despite the situation. Andrew shifted so his legs weren’t hanging off the side of your bed, shuffling towards the head. “You do it.”

“I…” he tried. This was ridiculous. “I can’t, I’m sorry,” he was laughing so hard his shoulders were shaking, his back pressed to the headboard.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, Andy,” you let out an exaggerated groan, snickering at him. Your voice stayed monotone, “Please, for me?”

You crawled closer to him, coming to sit right beside him.

Pope thought maybe he had died and gone to hell. He had you right there, so close to him he could smell the rosemary oil you insisted helped your hair grow. So close he could count your eyelashes if he could keep his eyes off your hands, dragging through the duvet to extend towards him.

He let out a groan, and you smiled self-satisfiedly. “Yeah?” you goaded. “You like that, Andy?”

Your voice was thick with wanting. Pope let out another noise, heat rushing to his neck. You were putting on a show, and not even for his benefit. A whine ripped itself from his chest, and the humiliation filled the cavity it left. Here he was, acting like a fucking virgin sitting with a pretty girl on her bed.

You still had that goddamn smile on your face, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. You were still moving closer, and Andrew felt frozen. He was trying so so hard, trying to behave, to not move you closer and grab any part of the expanse of skin you were seemingly haunting him by. He was trying to behave, and there you were, so close to him.

You were still giggling, even as you hauled yourself up and locked your legs on either side of his thighs. Pope’s hands were raised, hovering above your waist, not sure about the whole touching thing now that you were literally situated in his lap.

You opened your mouth, pushing a palm flat against the wall and letting out a slightly louder moan, looking him right in the eye.

Yep, definitely hell. You were settled in his lap, whining his name, gaze boring into his. He had to start thinking about geometry or baseball or something to distract himself from the fact that you were positioned right over his cock while wearing a skirt.

He was able to start on autopilot, matching your volume, throwing in a “baby” or a whine of your name every so often. He just had to keep a clear head for however long you decided sex with him would take and then wait so he could go jerk off and dump your boyfriend’s corpse. In that order.

You had one hand on his shoulder, one hand on the wall, still completely giddy from the venture. You seemed to be having a nice time, not burdened by the same hellish circumstance that he had found himself trapped in. Even more so when you shifted your hips slightly and had his cock twitch at the contact.

He felt you tense up and prepared for the anger. A slap, a spit, insults hurled. Something at least.

He couldn’t look up at your face, but unfortunately, your tits were the other closest things to his eyes. Instead, his head was turned to stare at the floral wallpaper, looking as far from your face as his head would physically turn.

“Andrew?” You whispered. He was shaking under your hands. He felt your hand move from his shoulder up his jaw, fingernails raking up his skin. You grabbed at his chin, pulling his face back up so he had to look at you. “Hey.”

This would be the last time he ever touched you, so he let his hands finally find purchase on your waist. “I’m so, fuck- I’m sorry. You can just ignore it; it’ll go away. I’m so fucking sorry, it’s not because of you.”

You pouted. “It’s not?” You rolled your hips, and Andrew felt his chest constrict. “That’s a shame.” You were moving consistently by that point, and he couldn’t figure out when you’d gotten such a mean streak.

“Fuck-” his head fell forward, forehead resting on your shoulder. “Baby, I-” he was interrupted by a whine yanked from his throat by the feeling of you grinding down on his crotch. “You… you gotta stop.”

“You want me to?” You asked innocently, pausing your movements.

Andrew lifted his head off your shoulder to look up at your face. You had never seen anyone look at you with such reverence.

Pope knew the good, moral thing to do was yes, to get you off his lap and then throw your boyfriend’s body in the ocean. What he chose to do was to lift his hips up to provide some of the friction you’d stopped giving him. “No,” he admitted. “Fuck- no. Please don’t.”

His face was still in your hand, and you gripped his chin, tipping his head back slightly. You ducked your head slowly, moving to press your mouth to his. Pope’s hands were roaming on your back, one of them finally slipping under the soft cotton of your blouse. Pope kissed like he talked, waiting for you to make the first move, but once you had, he cut himself loose. It wasn’t necessarily a good kiss; it was sloppy, mostly open-mouthed, and involved a lot of your mouth swallowing his moans.

But your brain seemed to reset, whether it was the feeling of his tongue slipping between your lips or the feeling of his erection pressing between your legs. The noises he was making, directly from his mouth to yours, were sending a buzzing feeling between your thighs.

You rolled your hips, he thrust up to meet you, and the friction set loose a high whimper that seemed to spur him on.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling off where he’d taken your bottom lip between his teeth. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this.”

He was embarrassingly close from the feeling of you grinding on him through his clothes. His hand squeezed your side, his entire body tense from the effort he was putting in to keep him from embarrassing himself. You let out a whine at the sudden move, and that had been his final straw.

Without warning, Pope wrapped a strong arm over your back and flipped you over so he was above you. You squealed at the impact, landing on your back, and the sound travelled straight to his cock. “Andrew-”

He kissed you again, his hand coming up to cup your jaw and rub soothing circles into your scalp. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned. Your legs fell apart for him to come move between them and press his chest to yours. Andrew took his free hand and stroked the back of your thigh, holding it up against his hip. “Oh, look at you.” He pulled up to take a good look at your face. Face flushed, pupils blown, and that stupid fucking smirk on your face.

The hand on your thigh loosened its grip and travelled upwards until it found its way underneath your skirt. As his palm made the connection with your damp underwear, you let out an embarrassingly high-pitched whine. “Andrew,” you shuddered against his touch.

“You want me to touch you?” he asked, voice low. You nodded, tilting your head up to try to capture his lips against yours again. “Yeah? Come on then, baby. Use your words.”

Your cheeks burned, more from annoyance than embarrassment. “Please, Andy…” That wasn’t enough for him; the most he did was press the heel of his palm firmer against your panties. “Want you to touch me,” you grumbled. Andrew knew you were miffed at not getting what you wanted without having to do what he wanted you to. You liked that he was so desperate for you, liked how he’d been hard under your touch without him even really touching you.

He pushed your panties to the side to run a finger through your folds. You whined, pushing your hips up at the brush of your clit against the pad of his finger. “Andrew,” you whimpered. He stayed by the nerve, pressing two of his fingers flat and rubbing small circles. He spent a few minutes switching up pace and pressure until he found one that you seemed to really enjoy.

Your moans went straight to his cock, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care about that when you were so warm, so wet; all other rational thought went straight out the window. “Fuck, pretty girl. Hear how fuckin’ wet you are?” He kissed the side of your mouth and moved his hand off your jaw to press it against your hand. The back of your palm pushed up against your pillow, clutched tightly in his, anchoring him there to you. He moved away from your clit and ignored the pained whimper you pressed into his cheek, instead moving his fingers to slip them inside.

You gasped at the intrusion, your free hand clawing at his back. “Fuck, Andy,” your moans were high-pitched and breathy, unlike the deep and fake noises you’d been forcing out for the benefit of the neighbours.

“Oh, pretty girl,” he groaned into your neck. You were so tight, even just around his fingers. He wanted to pay more attention to your clit, but the feeling of your hand in his was too tempting to give up. Instead, he pressed his index and middle fingers inside while brushing the nerve with his thumb. It was uncoordinated, fast, and desperate, but you were whining into his ear, clenching the back of his shirt in your free fist, and squeezing his fingers so tight he could feel precome pooling in his boxers.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned. “How am I meant to fit in here, baby?” He cooed, crooking his fingers up to press against your spongy center with the tips of his fingers and causing you to throw your head back, open-mouthed.

Pope felt you clench around him. “Wanted this so bad,” you admitted, pulling him closer to kiss him. It was so sloppy, half your words were said directly into his open mouth. “For- fuck- months, Andrew. I k-keep thinking about you,” you bucked up into him. “Johnny would always get angry because he said you wanted to fuck me-”

“Did,” Andrew grunted, fucking you with his fingers as far in as they could go, stretching you out. He hadn’t been joking before; there was no way he’d fit. “Do.”

You ignored him, still babbling on. “And I never believed him, but I really, really hoped he was right.”

Andrew pulled his fingers out of you again, but this time you didn’t whimper. He’d been talking a big game while he was on top of you. You wanted your sweetheart back. Stopping only to shove your panties down your legs and kick them off onto the floor, you wrestled yourself back on his lap. At the feeling of your bare core against his erection, Pope groaned again. “Fuck, baby, you felt so good, so wet for me. Was that all for me?” You nodded. “Fucking bastard, has no idea what he’s giving up, does he?”

Pope did not want you back on his lap because he was pretty sure that if you started riding him again, he’d come in his pants.

You seemed pretty gleeful at the concept of that happening, though, leaning down to attach your lips to his neck. There was a wet patch on the front of his pants where your bare core met the swell of his cock. “Andrew,” you rasped, “feels so good.”

His hips stuttered, hands on the backs of your bare thighs, debating whether to move up to your ass or down to your pussy. “Baby,” he groaned. “Say you want me.”

Andrew wasn’t a virgin. He’d had girlfriends, the occasional hookup. He had never been so achingly hard in his life, and you hadn’t even really touched his cock yet.

“You want me to want you?” You cooed. “Yeah, baby? I want you,” you husked, directly into his fear. “Want you so bad, Andrew.”

He tossed his head back, hitting the wall behind your headboard. “Fuck, you feel so good.” his hands squeezed the flesh of your ass, trying to find something to keep him from busting already.

“Yeah?” you encouraged.

Andrew nodded against your mouth, eyes rolled back in his head. “Yeah, fuck, baby. You look so pretty,” he said, looking up at you through his eyelashes. You could feel yourself soaking his pants, his erection catching on your clit, and sending your head fuzzy. “So, so pretty. My pretty girl.”

You reached for his belt buckle at that, desperate to satiate the pulsing between your legs. He made no move to help you, watching through blown pupils as you undid his pants and shoved them down as far as you could with him sitting down. You’d been able to see the wet patch on his dark jeans, and you’d assumed it had been made up of entirely your arousal, evidence of how much you needed him. But seeing the dark stain of precome pooled by his erection, you realised he needed you just as much.

“Andrew,” you breathed, lusting and listless. “Can I touch you, please?”

Andrew groaned like he was in pain, nodding and nudging his face up to kiss your cheeks. “Please, baby. I’d take anything, anything you wanna do.”

You liked how he wasn’t trying to pretend he didn't want this as much as you did. You waned him so badly you ached, you could feel yourself clenching around nothing, desperate for the friction his fingers had provided. “Yeah?” He nodded. “Can you open up for me?”

Andrew opened his mouth, eyeing you as you leaned over his face and let a droplet of your spit land on his tongue. Eyes rolling back, he closed his mouth and savoured it, and that was when you decided to take the opportunity to reach into his underwear.

He was bigger than you’d expected from how unassuming he was. Andrew was a big guy, with arms so huge you wanted him to wrap them around your neck until you saw stars. But he wasn’t super tall, so you’d figured he’d gotten so jacked in prison. He hung heavily over the waistband of his boxers, and his breath hitched when he felt you wrap your impossibly soft hand around him. Now that you had him where you wanted him, everything else seemed to be in the way. His shirt was ripped from his head, the buttons of your blouse undone by shaking fingers. Andrew let his head drop forward to mouth at your covered chest, hand palming the cup of your bra on the other side.

You’d intended to tease him a little, maybe pay back the favour of his fingers, but after less than a full stroke, he was whining at you. “Please,” he gasped out, stopping his task of soaking through your bra with his spit. “I need to be inside you.” Your name slipped from his lips so desperately that you felt your walls flutter.

You reached up to cup his jaw again, keeping the pad of your thumb pressed to his chin and pushing two of your fingers against his lips. He let you in immediately, moaning around your digits and maintaining sweltering eye contact as your other hand brushed his slit with your thumb. An especially loud groan brought you back to where you were, what the goal had been.

“That’s it, baby,” you cooed. “Let the whole building hear how much you want me.”

Once your fingers were well and truly lubricated, you reached back down to touch his cock. “Fuck,” he let out. “You fucking tease-” he was being louder as you’d requested, but only just. He wanted people to hear, sure, but this wasn’t some type of performance.

Pope was desperately running through topics in his head - counting sheep, trying to do basic addition - anything to distract himself from the feeling of your hand running along the vein he had on the underside of his cock.

“Are you gonna fit?” You asked him, lifting yourself up to discard your skirt. Pope took the opportunity of you being out of his lap to shove his jeans down his legs, leaving himself completely bare in front of you. All you had left was your bra, and he’d be perfectly content to keep mouthing at the fabric, but you discarded that, too.

“Oh, yeah, baby,” he sighed, moving to lay you down once again against your pillows. “I’ll fit.” He brought his thumb down to brush your clit again. Your wetness was pooling between your folds, about to start leaking down onto your bed. He actually wasn’t sure, despite how turned on you were, if he would fit. He was above average, but not by much. But the way you’d clamped down around his fingers made Pope feel like maybe Johnny hadn’t been giving you very much to work with. The two of you had been together for like six years, he was pretty sure. “You were fuckin’ made for me, weren’t you?”

You nodded.

He ran his fingers down your glistening folds, collecting your juices in his hand. Andrew had half a mind to bring them to his mouth, but he wanted the first time to be straight from the source. Instead, he let you take them in your mouth, mirroring what he’d done to you. You circled one of his thick fingers with your tongue, and he knew immediately he’d made a mistake, cock jumping at the feeling. He wanted to see you with your pretty lips wrapped around him.

Despite the slick mess between your thighs, his wet fingers were able to find purchase on your clit. “See how much I want you, Andy?” you moaned, and he knew the fucking neighbours heard the groan that pushed from his chest.

The head of his cock brushed your clit, and both of you whined into the open air. You pulsed under his touch, wanting and sensitive.

He took his hand away from your clit just long enough to take hold of his cock and guide it to catch on your entrance.

You look up at him, writhing and needy, and he ducks down to kiss you. “Fucking dreamt of this,” he admits. “Every time I’d watch you leave with him, I’d imagine pulling you away, making you feel so fucking good you forget every name that isn’t mine.”

His mind drifted back ever so slightly to the almost-corpse shoved in his trunk. The two of you had been plenty loud; the whole building had probably heard. Andrew wondered if Johnny could.

“Need you so bad,” you whispered. One leg wrapped around his waist, one bent at the knee on your side, looking up at him. “So fucking bad, Andrew,” you arched your back to bring your face closer to his, and he complied, kissing you roughly as he nudged his hips forward.

He felt you tense up, reaching down to rub distractedly at your clit with one hand and your jaw with the other. “Shit,” he hissed. “You okay?”

You nodded emphatically.

Once the tip was in, he stopped, letting himself stretch you out enough that every movement doesn’t catch a vein or ridge against your walls. You were squeezing him like he owed you money, and he had to put a lot of effort into holding himself up to watch your face.

Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth, eyes half closed. Half whimpers were coming out through your mouth, one after the other, cutting off the one before. “Baby,” he cajoled. “You gotta talk to me.”

It took you a second, too overwhelmed with the stretch and the fact that Andrew Cody was in your bed, and the man you thought would be ruining your life forever was probably dead. And maybe you were dead and this was heaven, not that you’d ever be sent there after what you made him do. “So good, Andrew,” you reassured him, bringing a hand up to clench his auburn curls. “You can go more in.”

He took the opportunity to slide in further, revelling in each gasp you let out as part of his head caught on a ridge inside your pussy. “Oh my fucking god,” he grunted against your neck, certain he’d never been sucked in as completely as your cunt was doing, and he was only halfway in.

You were breathing so heavily, and Andrew kept pulling away to check on you, that by the time he bottomed out, the thick tip of his cock brushing your warm center, both of you were almost embarrassingly close.

“Fuck, pretty girl, can I move?”

You nodded. He tried to kiss you but got taken over by a full-body shudder at the feeling of pulling out, missing, and instead burying his forehead in your shoulder. The sound was downright filthy, filling your bedroom with a wet slap of his thighs kissing yours.

“Feels so good, Andrew,” you moaned, breath stuttering as he pushed  back in. The thrusts were slow at first, trying to give you both something to stay grounded in. But you were so tight, and you were talking to him so sweetly, and when he pushed forward, you’d clench, and his chest would brush against your nipples, and he felt so pent up he was going to explode.

“Baby…” your name tumbled from his lips, begging and rough, out of breath. “‘M all yours. All yours, my pretty girl. Could do anything you wanted to me. Let you spit on me again.”

You could tell he was borderline asking for it at that point, so you shoved his head back down to connect to your lips, trying to collect as much spit as you could get in there. He swallowed it dutifully, along with a moan of your name.

He was on the brink, as he had been since he’d heard that first sigh from your mouth. He was grabbing at the flesh of your thighs, trying to claw desperately at something that wasn’t your fucking wall. With how hard he was squeezing, he’d probably put a hole in it and come face to face with your neighbours in their kitchen.

“Andrew,” you mewled.  “Need… fuck… need you-”

“Right here?” He flicked your clit. “‘M sorry, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

He could feel himself getting there, and with the amount he’d been staving it off, he knew his climax wasn’t going to be soft.

Pope started playing with your clit, trying his best to replicate the rhythm that had gotten you so worked up at the beginning. You groaned, reaching blindly for him. “That’s it, right there.”

Andrew could feel you clenching around him, the walls of your cunt fluttering in time with his thrusts. “Fuck, you feel too good.” He kissed you. “Too fucking good, baby. So fuckin’ pretty for me, hey?” He was slurring his words, completely drunk on the feeling of you taking all of him inside.

“Andy-” the gasp was stilted, your fingernails gripping into his biceps. He was pretty sure you could cut him open with your nails, and he wouldn’t feel it, all of his senses completely attached to how fucking good you felt all spread out for him.

“You close?” He asked, more smug than he had any right to be, given how near he was to finishing. You nodded, and he kissed you. Kissed you. Kissed you. Each time, he got a little more lightheaded, and each time, you let out one of those soft sighs that made his arms shake.

“What do you need?”

You directed him, moving so you were half on your side, your leg anchored at his hip, whining as he hit a new spot inside of you. It was hard to find any part to lock on to with the mess between your legs, but he was still rubbing your clit. “Come on, baby. Show me how much you want me. Need to see it.”

You took his hand back in yours, mouth missing his lips as your orgasm hit you. Pope knew the second you came around him that he didn’t have long, but he tried to draw it out of you as long as possible, fucking you through it. “That’s my girl.” The feeling was white hot and dizzying, and for a second - though you’d never tell him this, smug bastard - all you could think of was Andrew.

You lay there, letting him fuck you, squeezing his hand and his dick. He couldn’t remember ever feeling that good, still rubbing your poor sensitive clit until you brought a hand up to swat him away. “Please, Andy,” you murmured, spare hand threading through his hair. “Please.”

“Where-” his thrusts were sloppy, barely able to string a single sentence together. “Where do you want me?”

He felt an aftershock rip through you as he hit your sweet spot, your voice sounding woozy and hot. “Inside.”

He stuttered. “In-”

“Want you inside,” you assured him. “Please? Want you so bad, Andrew- baby.” You whimpered, and he sucked in a sharp breath. “Want to be yours.”

He leaned heavily into you, putting his body weight on the thigh you had clamped around his hips. He groaned your name, “Want me inside? Fuck, want to be all full of me?” The idea of that alone was enough to have him spilling inside of you, breathing you in from his spot on your neck. The sheer force of his orgasm causing him to spill down your thighs as he pushed forward one last time.

He stayed there for a while before leaving with a soft kiss to go to your bathroom. He ran a washcloth under some warm water and returned to find you right where he’d left you. You and Andrew had never discussed whether you were on the pill or not - he had to assume you were, but as he wiped your sticky thighs down gently, he couldn’t help the way his chest constricted at the sight of him leaking out of you.

You, for all your charms while he’d been fucking you silly, had fallen into a blissed-out state of rest, watching him. “You going?”

His stomach did a flip. “Yeah, baby,” he finished with the washcloth, making a note to dump it in the laundry on his way out. Once he found his clothes. You sat up on your elbows, curling your legs inward so you were less spread out, and Andrew knew without you saying it that you wanted him to kiss you. “I gotta go to work.”

You nodded, beaming at him. “Hurry back.”

He discarded the washcloth and redressed himself, you going to pee and shrugging on a t-shirt and a clean pair of panties, meeting him back by the front door. You reached up to hug him again like you had when he’d arrived, this time placing a firm kiss on the side of his mouth. “You’ll come back?”

Andrew kissed the inside of your elbow, your arm resting on his shoulder, from where it was wrapped around your neck. He kissed a trail right up to your mouth, eyes blazing into yours. “I’ll be a few hours.”

Andrew wasn’t sure if you really wanted him back that quickly. He would usually spend an afternoon here and there sitting on your sofa or at your kitchen table, the two of you talking softly. He had only been coming over to establish a pattern of behaviour.

Though he reasoned it would be odd to break the pattern right along with your ex-boyfriend’s untimely demise.

When he pulled back into the parking space in your lot reserved for your apartment several hours later and smelling like bleach, he still hadn’t been sure if you wanted him there. He’d bought a bouquet of flowers from a roadside stall on a whim, and he felt stupid unlocking your door with them.

Your beaming smile at the sight of him had helped calm his nerves somewhat, though. The soft kiss you planted on him calmed the rest.

[unmarlou]

w/ andrew pope cody 18+ sexually explicit content

pope cody that likes fucks himself between your thighs, especially after you’re completely fucked-out and sleepy. he’d hold you so sweetly, either your chest to his back or your body laid out on top of his. could be three or four rounds in already, pope’s, previous dysfunctional, hard-on practically springing back to life after only a few minutes because he just loves you. loves being close to you. loves feeling you.

but he can see how sleepy and strung out you are, how spacey you’re getting, can feel your soft whimpers against his skin as he holds you close. so he does the next best thing: pushing your legs as close together as possible and dragging his cock in and out of that lovely, pillowy area of your body. your sweet pussy juices and his slick cum leak down on him from above, making the soft of your skin wet enough for it to almost feel like the real thing. almost.

and this doesn’t go without his guilt consuming him, “‘m sorry, baby… i jus’, ughhh, jus’ need a little bit more of you, ‘kay? fuck, feels so good, my good girl…”

you can’t deny the glorious feeling of his thick cockhead slipping against your poor, tired, puffy clit. it’s makes the lowest part of your back arch, even if it simultaneously overstimulates you a bit, making you whine into pope’s neck further as he continues his murmured apologies, “i know, pretty girl, i know… gonna let you go to sleep in a sec, fffffuck. just lemme cum one more time, please, just need it one more time. please, please, please, baby.”

[sun-snatcher]

( gif from this lovely set by the amazing @wesandresons ! )

☤ ─ GENTLEMAN'S INSTINCT

summ.  Sometimes you're reminded how merciless Abbot can be. You indulge in it. pairing. jack abbot / f!reader w.count.  5k ! a/n.  NSFW +18 , porn-with-prose , no y/n , petnames galore , oral m-receiving , aftercare , literally just jack abbot in that civvies-camo combo ‘cause yeah , also jack abbot being a hot badass while in uniform ( you'll see what I mean I hope )

IT’S THE DEMEANOUR, you notice. The glacial calm he carries in the face of any crises or catastrophes. That seeing him experiencing anything other than level-headedness is a rarity.

It comes along with the commanding presence he brings with his title— lieutenant; doctor; officer ( Combat Vet; Senior Attending; SWAT Medic )— that instinctively draws people in, or has them making way for him, has them deferring to him out of well-earned respect.

Physicality adds to it too, ofcourse. 

Biceps taut on his scrubs sleeves whenever he crosses his freckled arms to think, doing that pensive gaze he does where his chin tucks and he looks up past his lashes; shark-like in the tenebrous weight of his narrow stare, lips pursed and dimpling at his stubbled cheeks. 

Nor do the fatigues offer any help, either; they make him look meaner than he already does, you find. Tough. Militant. Imposing. Just a little more rugged, a little more rough-around-the-edges handsome, a little more grittier to the average eye in that classic, old-fashioned way. 

(The perfect archetype of a natural protector: both the shepherd who tends faithfully to his sheep and the dog that mercilessly defends them.) 

And then there’s that damn roughstone voice of his—

“Look at me,” he’d said, after the damage had been done. 

Ordered, it felt more like, though he was pleading. You’re surprised at how swift you’d paid automatic heed to the gravel-deep tone of his voice, riding that razor edge of unraveling concern and blistering anger. 

Well within reason, ofcourse: Abbot’s SWAT unit had been deployed on a gang-violence case. When the storm of a shootout had passed, and they’d ended up having to wheel in one of their own officers to PTMC’s Emergency Department alongside one of said criminal thugs in tow, you’d been the closest medical staff to get caught in the crossfire.

A tattooed blur reaching up from the gurney. A yelp as your hair is yanked down in a fit of blind rage. 

And then—

And then.

A pistol materialises, barrel pressed right between his eyes. 

“Go ahead,” Abbot snarls, an inch from pulling the trigger. “Give me a fucking reason.”

(He doesn’t open fire, of course. That would’ve been ridiculous. Not to mention a mountain of paperwork.)

And so the jarring chiaroscuro that was Jack Abbot appeared in South-22: Nonchalant then, in the way he’d cradled your face to assess you, in the way his fingers tucked a strand behind your ear as if they hadn’t been the same ones carrying a lethal weapon.

You okay? he’d murmured, voice that gravelly undertone that always makes you shudder. 

M’fine, you’d nodded, unable to stop openly admiring him in that dizzying uniform: all camo and tactical and trim, the muted colours working in his favour to bring out the bright of his eyes.

What is it, sweetheart? he’d frowned, shrewd as always. 

You swallowed. Shook your head. If he’d caught your there-and-away glance to his lips, he didn’t seem to comment. 

I’m gonna get back to work, you’d dismissed. It’s nothing, Jack.  

But—

“It’s not nothing,” he brings up, later that night. “This is very much not nothing, sweetheart.”

Straddled at the living room couch under the warm weight of you, Abbot has to physically slide his hands up from your hips and shackle your wrists away from his face. Done, ofcourse, with an alarmingly easy grip. (You file that thought away for later.)

Abbot looks handsome when frazzled like this, you think privately to yourself. A flush that's blossoming up from his chest, climbing his neck and rosing across the bridge of his nose. Even the tips of his ears have gone a distinct pink from your incessant kisses and constant grinding against his lap.

He hisses; lungs expanding, eyes screwing shut when you deliberately attempt to adjust your hips.

“Baby,” he breathes, pupils blown wide half in yen and in pleasant confusion. “What is up with you tonight?”

You ignore him. Waylay him into another bruising kiss instead. Drive your hips down coyly into his camo pants again, enough it makes him groan gutturally into your mouth at the friction of it all— 

Although it doesn’t appear to work: Abbot’s a disciplined man; he wouldn’t have made a good and dutiful soldier if he wasn’t. 

Instead he dodges the next kiss you give him, where it lands on the corner of his lips, much to your chagrin and his childish amusement, and he levels you with that discerning look.

“Tell me,” he murmurs. (Orders, it still feels like. Gruff and demanding. It makes you giddy. He can order you around to do whatever he wishes and you’d gladly—)

“Nothing,” you finally relent. Thumb at his cheek. Trace the slope of his lips down to his stubbled chin. “It’s just…”

Your hands drop to his chest, then further to the hem of his black shirt, where it’s come untucked at the waistline of his cargo pants.

Not once does he break eye-contact with you, and it’s then he reckons something in them.

“Is it my— Is the uniform doing it for you?” he pieces, laughter threading into his words. “It is, isn’t it? That’s why you were looking at me weird earlier. Why you practically jumped my bones when I walked through our front door—”

Heat floods to your face. You wrinkle your nose at him. “Don’t act like you didn’t know,” you scowl, letting him off the hook with that last statement: You had, in fact, practically gravitated and clung to him like a magnet when he’d come home wearing those lethal half-camo-half-civvies combination that hug him in all the right places. 

“I really didn’t,” he swears, unable to stop dimpling at you. And then: “Wow. You’re so easy.”

You scoff out an affronted Excuse me? Let out a stunned laugh as you swat him on the bicep at the boyish sense of pride blooming across his face. 

“I should’ve realised,” he sing-songs, catching your next smack with ease and pretending to nip at your fingertips in defense. “You like me in fatigues. I can’t believe it. You like a military man, huh?”

“I like you,” you correct, pulling your hands back to lay it on his sternum, feel the humdrum of his heartbeat under the broad of his muscles. “…But me pouncing you isn’t just because of that.”

“Oh?” he says, and like an intrigued bird, preens once again. You groan. Bow your head at the obvious delight in his face.

All he does is laugh and tuck the tresses of hair that’s slid along with your downturned gaze. Try to chase your eyes like he always does. You pick at the seam on his collar, a non-existent piece of lint— Just something to buy yourself time while you string your thoughts into something coherent. 

There’s that palpable sense in the space between— the tension you’d get when you feel somebody about to confess something; show you the chink in their proverbial armour, or offer you a plate of their beating heart. 

You’re… nervous, he realises. Sheepish about— 

His brows shoot to his hairline.

“Oh,” he says. Recognises it now: A yelp. A pistol. A threat. 

He lets out a wheeze. Doesn’t even try to hold it this time.

“Alright. I’m ordering dinner,” you deadpan, already climbing off him, where he instantly chimes in with a grasp on your wrist and a half-hearted series of No, no, no! I’m not laughing at you, honey, I promise. C’mere, baby, please—?

Abbot pulls you back in for a fervent kiss. Deep and meaningful as he breathes the scent of you in. Sorry, it translates, playful. I’m sorry. 

“I just…” His eyes squint after, head doing that endearing, fidgety turn and tilt it always does when he talks. “What is it exactly about what I did that turns you on?”

“Oh, now you’re just fishing for compliments,” you snort, twirling a rowdy curl at his nape when he lets out another weak laugh.

“The safety wasn’t even flipped, honey,” he explains, forming an imaginary pistol with his fingers to demonstrate the mechanism. “Hammer never dropped. The gun wouldn’t’ve went off.”

But you shrug anyway, run your nails down his scalp just the way he likes, carving through the salt-and-pepper of his hair as he hums. 

“It’s the thought that counts?” you offer, inadequate. “I… genuinely don’t know what exactly it was, if I’m being honest. Maybe it’s ’cause you were a total badass,” you muse, ignoring yet another laugh from him. “Maybe it’s the way you spoke to him.”

He breaks into a knowing smile. Voice tinged with amusement and something wry. “Oh, you like me a little mean, hm?” 

You laugh, caught. Pinch at his skin in comic retaliation. He doesn’t budge at all, like the tough-as-nails man he is; just stares at you with that hazy, affectionate gaze.

A slow beat passes as you reckon with your thoughts.

“I guess it’s just nice to be protected,” you say at last, the gentlest he’s ever heard. “Nice to feel invincible, y’know?”

Abbot falls quiet at that, blindsided.

Safe, he realises. He makes you feel safe.

Something abrupt tides over him. An impossible urge. An overwhelming desire to kiss and embrace and surround you. To tuck and fold you past his ribcage and into his weathered heart, forever sheltered in the home that is his arms—

“I love you, you know that?” he says, and he finds his voice is mellowed down now. Low, soft. An ocean-in-a-shell whisper when he says your name.

“Jack,” you exhale, a butterfly-wing breath. Abbot etches the divine sight of your smile into his mind. Thinks he could drown in the affection of your voice alone— Would gladly allow it. “I love you too.”

When you dip down to kiss him it's like lighting a wick aflame. The quickfire spark of a flintwheel. Then he’s nosing down and down, mouthing from the seam of your lips to your jaw, your pulsepoint, your collar, your bare shoulder. He’ll mark you up later, he thinks, right now he just wants to feel every inch of you.

Abbot caresses up your arms, pulls your left hand from his cheek to turn it over. And then he’s pressing his lips upon your palm up to your fingertips— a reverent kiss. Like you’re his holy artifact; a Saint’s relic to worship.

“Chivalrous,” you muse mindlessly, tracing down the dent of his cheek, the stippled line across his jaw. You can feel your heart swell. Feel his hands snaking up your skin beneath your shirt— his shirt, actually— that swallows you whole, loose and already slipping one shoulder.

“I threatened to kill a man,” he points out incredulously, voice dropped in that whispery octave again; smoky, dark.

Exactly, you don’t reply, feeling that excitable buzz through your spine once more at the vivid memory: bright blood and gleaming gunmetal; the predatorial growl in his voice and the dangerous expression on his face. Go ahead. Give me a fucking reason.

“For me,” you add, purring against his lips, breath damp and curling with his. You give him a kiss chaste enough that it has him craning closer for more. “You did it for me.”

Then your hands wander, up neath the cotton of his shirt and down his smoldering skin, slow and steady, until they settle at the flesh of his navel; until your manicured nails catch on the buttons of his camo pants. “So let me do something for you.”

Baby, he chokes back, half-desperate already. You press a bruising, saccharine kiss to lean him back as you work him free, revelling in the shudder of his battleworn body when the zipper sings through the air, and you take your time to reach into his waistband to wrap your fingers around the thick of him. 

It’s hot and heavy when you tug his cock out.

“S’for you,” you murmur, sinking to your knees now, between the gaps of his legs. 

He watches you rapt with attention when you lean a cheek into the camo, goosebumps lining his skin at the sight of you— doe-eyed and looking like you’re right where you want to be as a flash of your wet tongue makes itself known.

The breach of his swollen, leaky head into your mouth is divine. 

It doesn’t take very long before his hand is fisting your hair with barely concealed restraint. It’s messy, this time. Forgoing his usual reflex to bunch it into a ponytail for your own ease. (Oh, you hear his dry, biting sarcasm ring in your head, you like me a little mean, hm?) The other sits splayed on the gap between your shoulder blades, running the pads of his fingers up your nape.

“Ja— mh,” you choke, feeling the tip of him reach the back of your throat already. His hips are shifting up from the sofa to meet your insistent pace. Be a little harsher, you want to say, but you’re intoxicated with the scent and taste of him. Nose buried at his happy trail every time you bottom out and scrape your nails against his tense thighs.

You’re practically salivating over his cock and dampening the fly of his pants. He tastes like skin and something masculine. Smells like heady sweat and gunpowder. 

You’re dizzy with delight everytime he curses; everytime he croons. Watching each ripple of his forearms, sinews of muscles flexing under freckled skin as he braces himself from going too far—

“Eyes on me, honey,” Abbot rasps. Orders. There are jittering phosphenes in your peripherals when you meet his gaze, his eyes shadowed into something dark from the angle of the dim light above him. It sends a buzz through you. Forces a wanton, strangled sound from your throat that has him twitching excitedly in your mouth. “God, yeah. That’s it, baby.” 

It’s a touch condescending. Dangerous. That same, clinical way he gets as a senior mentoring his juniors, or in his gaze whenever he’s observing something in a patient; diagnosing. 

“You wanted mean,” he repeats, carefully. Making sure you’re registering each word. “Sweetheart. Want me to use you?”

(Courteous, still. Ensuring. May I? he seems to ask. A gentleman’s instinct.)

He’s pulling you apart from his cock the next second. Abrupt enough you’re gasping for air with a sickening pop of your lips, reflexively swallowing around the invisible shape he’s molded into your throat. A string of saliva connects; sloppy. It makes a frisson run through Abbot at the lewd sight. Answer me. 

“Yes,” you whisper to his question. Then, before the synapses in your brain could fire upon realisation: “Yes, Sir.”

Abbot slams his eyes shut. “Fuck.” Lets out a strained breath of a laugh. “Jesus, woman,” he exhales, flickering back to where your lithe fingers are mindlessly rolling and flexing over the hard length of him: slow strokes, a squeeze, a shy kitten-lick. 

He’d heard the title before, ofcourse. Sir. In his military days and tactical briefings during his moonlighting with SWAT teams, where rank and hierarchy is commonplace and acknowledged without question. A routine structure that never leaves those walls— 

Until now, at least. And even then formalities have never been a thing between you both, neither in the ED. It’s a collaborative affair when someone’s life is on the line— So hearing it now in the walls of home, so eager and so absentmindedly said, hits him square in the chest more than he’d like to admit. 

(On your knees, you look smaller like this: docile. Submissive; easier to handle, to bend into will or obedience. 

It makes him feel— powerful.)

“Go ahead, then,” he says, with newfound clarity and lust-filled amusement. He rakes his nails down your scalp, sets a demanding palm. “Be good for me.”

In no time, he’s forcing his cock past the seal of your lips. It’s wet and messy as you struggle to take the stiff length of him down in one go once more, muffled tiny sounds escaping you in lewd little hums and Mh, mh, mh— when he bobs you further down; makes you take him just that inch more.

Each rise and fall of your head is controlled by his clutch. He doesn’t let you pull back at times now— a new game— testing how long you can hold it before you’re tapping at his thighs, heart skittering in alarm— and even then he dares to tarry a second or two longer just for his own pleasure.

“Deeper, baby. You can do it,” he’d soothe, thumbing away the drool leaking from your lips. “Yeah? Fuck. You feel so good.”

The praises shoot liquid pleasure down your spine; makes you rub your thighs as you whine. Every grunt he makes is a compliment; every twitch and buck of his hips a trophy; every sharp hiss and muttering curse a jewel to your crown.

“Maybe I’ll fuck you in uniform,” he pants, when he eventually yanks you from his cock for a moment’s reprieve. His hand slides down from your scalp to press at both your cheeks, watching the slick dribble to your chin when he taps his thumb expectantly on your wet lips. “S’that what you want, honey?”

Unbidden, the image of Abbot half-feral as he fucks you brutally from behind flashes in your head. He’d command you strip naked for him, you imagine, and perhaps he’d use you for his own personal pleasure, still decked in that olive quarter-zip and taking, claiming, imposing himself onto you by burying his cock in you.

You imagine the sound of his belt— carrying his sidearms— divested and landing on the floor, his camo pants hurriedly unzipped just enough to pull his cock out while he climbs right into you with no prep; the full weight of his chest pressing down onto you from behind so you couldn’t squirm; couldn’t break free from the bicep he’d curl flush around your neck while he bit marks down the hollow of your throat, groaning into your ear as he c—

You whimper. It’s a pathetic sound; begging to be used. Humiliation burns your cheeks. “Yes.”

Abbot’s brows climb. Grip tightens in rumbling disapproval.

“—Sir,” you tag at the last second, gut seizing in half-fear and half-thrill at how quickly he’s already taken to this powerplay. “Yes, Sir.”

“There we go,” he coos, throbbing at how ready you are to heed. He bites his lip, curled at the edges with something akin to a daze and pure enamourment. He’d never have expected this from you— let alone himself. 

The gunpoint confrontation he’d had today with that patient had barely registered as anything remarkable to him. The dizzying cocktail of power and command over anyone, in fact, has never been something he’d given thought to. Sure, it’s satisfying to be feared, and above all out of respect— but it’d been nothing but a job to him. An instinct to move; to make sure no one in the Pitt is hurt.

But today, with the quiet surge of authority that comes with donning his fatigues— an unconscious, private sense of gratification and pride has him intoxicated at how you seem to defer to his competence, to his demands. Especially now, with how quickly you’d dropped to your knees for him in pure admiration, so eager to deign to his unspoken wishes and serve him just because he threatened a man while in uniform—

“You’ve got a job to do first, sweetheart,” he murmurs, meeting the excited glint in your teary eyes. “Finish what you started.”

He brackets your face with the palms of his hands and puts you back to work. Prespend drips down your chin as he feeds himself back down your throat, feels the slip and curl of your tongue as it slides over the veins of his cock. “Hah, f—uck,” he bites out, “Yeah. Attagirl. Attagirl.”

His pace is self-indulgent and cruel. Demanding; just how you’d pleaded it. Sinful approval tumbles from his mouth at how You take me so well, baby, you can do it. You can take it, can’t you? You wanted this, so I’ll give it. Just be a good girl and fuck, take it— a jumbled concoction of praises and condescending quips that has your mind spinning with both embarrassment and appetite.

His grasp turns into a vice as the minutes pass. Coiling around the sides of your face as he anchors you. He smothers and sinks you lower at each hard pump of your mouth around him, thumbing at a stray tear with a huff of a laugh. Spoiling himself with this fantasy of yours; with every gagging whine you make.

“C’mon now,” he husks, sounding breathless. “Almost there, pretty girl. Doing so good.”

You’re carving crescents into his thighs. Lungs searing at the mild hypoxia. An aching heat pooling south beneath you. His brows are pinched into an irritated divot when he allows you up for an obligated sliver of a breath, before fitting himself back into your mouth to fuck your throat into completion. 

Greedy, you think, completely delirious and candidly blissed out from the flattery and the sight of Abbot this way: eyes struggling not to roll as his head lulls from the utter euphoria coursing through his veins. You like him greedy and selfish and mean. 

That innate soldier that he can never shake from the doctor in him, appearing sporadically in flashes over days with combative patients or browbeating visitors. That effortlessly commands a room by sheer militant presence, that doesn’t take no for an answer, that can still be as deadly weaponless and with his own bare hands.

“Baby,” he warns coarsely, memorising the delicious glide of your tongue around his cock. He bites his lip and fights the urge to throw his head back onto the couch. “M’close. So close, sweetheart.”

It’s flattering to hear; to feel. Seeing Abbot looming above you like an eclipse, in complete control over your breathing, yet visibly struggling with effort as you slide your hands up from his thighs to his navel and to his hips; using it as grip to sink yourself deeper and deeper— Fuck, baby, he slurs. You’re so good to me. So fucking good—

“I’m gonna come,” he pants, breath hitching. It’s a primal sound, and for a moment you think he’ll finish in your mouth, paint you thick with him. “Yeah, fuck. M’gonna come—”

But he loosens his grip instead, lets you gasp for air as he pulls out and rests his cock on the tip of your tongue. It’s swollen; An angry, aching red. Fit to burst.

What was it you’d called this earlier? A gentleman’s instinct. Your own Prince Charming. That despite the ironclad hold avarice has over his self, he still courteously thinks of and puts you first; Still can rein in his wild desire and dial in the discipline, prioritise graciousness: 

“Where d’you want me, honey?” he whispers.

Abbot, before he is a deadly man, is a good man.

“I wanna, I—” you fluster, throat raw from overuse as your tunnel vision attempts to re-widen with the burst of oxygen. “Inside. Wanna swallow you. Please.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he doesn’t say, but it’s written in his face. “Yeah?” he assents, twitching in anticipation as he pets at the crown of your head. “Yeah. Don’t have to beg, baby. I’ll give it.”

“I’ll take it,” you nod feverishly, canting your head back into his grip again. His hands ease to your nape, and you let out a moan at the slow tightening curl of his fingers. “I’ll take all of it, Sir.”

His gaze is treacherous as he guides your mouth to his cock again. “Damn right you will.”

The approval makes your head swim. A decree. No room for mistakes or failure. You’ll take what he gives and ten more should he demand it. 

The strangled noises you make in your attempt to appeal to him— gags, mewls, coughs— makes him throb. Stifled moans that vibrate down his cock and knots in his groin. Deriving a depraved pleasure from your troubles to take him to the hilt. (Too big, you’d complained to him once, when he’d stuffed your cunt full of him. You’re so fucking big, Jack—)

The head of his cock grinds the back of your throat. He’s pulsing like a heartbeat. Ready to pump you to the brim. It’s driving Abbot mad how close he is, yet how much longer he wants to prolong this perpetual ecstasy.

“Oh, fuck,” he curses, rutting harder into you. Your name sounds like gospel as he chants it. Borderline a snarl. “I’m gonna come, honey,” he warns. “Y’gonna take it all, hm? Be a good— hah, fuck— be a good girl.”

Please, you keen. Letting him use your mouth recklessly to chase his high, hand at the back of your skull as he shoves you down to meet his thrusts: In. Out. In. Out. It’s delicious. It’s delicious, and you’re just as starved for his cum as he is for the wet, hot seal of your mouth to milk him clean.

“Yeah, I’m—” he stumbles, senseless. Too occupied with keeping you firmly suffocated around him. With the echoing squeak of the couch and the sickly-sweet sounds he’s pulling from your taut lips. “Fuck, sweetheart— Ah—”

It’s white-hot when he comes. Hips flexing. A flood of pure, unadulterated bliss. Suckling him down to the root, cheeks hollowed and nose nestled to the bed of curls led by his happy trail. 

Ropes of his thick cum streak your tongue and throat in rapid bursts, sudden enough it makes you lurch from your gag reflex, makes your back jump and arch instinctively under his domineering grip. Stay still, he means to say, coming out as a grunt. Quit fussing.

Abbot can imagine it as well as you can taste the molten spill of him. Feels the muscles in your throat twitching violently as you work him through it. Picturing the pearlescent mixture dripping down, down, down your pharynx like sin; a mark that brands you as his from the inside out. 

Your chokes are precious. Has him growling out incoherently as he continues to drain all of himself into you in spurts. “Ohh, good girl,” he sighs, looking down at the heavenly sight:

Fanned lashes fluttering. Maintaining that erotic eye-contact the way he likes. Dazed with halcyon and eros at the way he’s filled your mouth impossibly to the brim. He ought to burn this image of you into his brain forever.

Mmph, you hum, jaw aching from the sheer size of him; from the absolute work out he’d just dragged you through. When you pull away with a lingering kiss on his cock, he watches you, captivated; Unhinging just enough to show him the pool of white cum in your mouth, and then, as if coveting it— 

You swallow. Sticky. Tangy. Clicks as it goes down your throat.

“Attagirl,” Abbot drawls, brushing his knuckles at your cheek with tender affection. Collecting the tears rolling down them as a slow minute passes. “Did as I asked. So good. You’re so good, you know that?”

The blatant adoration sits fuzzy in your heart. Warmth settling in your ribcage and comfortably making a home there. You’re suddenly longing to be held— to feel what you felt when he’d propped that gun to the man’s forehead. Safe, you recall. You’ve done the job, after all, haven’t you?

Abbot reads your mind just as intuitively. Knows you better than anyone. 

“C’mon, pretty girl. Up,” he orders, without the bite now; without the rough tone and the manhandling. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

It’s soft. The fantastical image of him being some beastly, unforgiving thing— slows to a crawl and fades away at his behest. He slides his palms to your shoulders and gently helps you up onto his lap, folds you into his arms where he devours you into a doting, winsome kiss, before he lays your head to rest on his collar.

He presses his lips to the crown of your head. Let’s you square your breathing back into reality as his own tachy heart begins to slow in tandem with yours.

“Alright?” he soothes, when the moment passes. He’s tucked you into a cradle-like embrace— shelter, you feel, surrounded by nothing but him and only him— his one hand still busy with smoothing out the uneven tangles he’s made in your hair. 

“Mhm,” is all you muster for now. Unduly spent and satisfied to speak. Basking in the aftermath of sex; melting in his delicate aftercare.

“Too rough?” Abbot asks, the concern he’d tamped down earlier now beginning to surface. He cranes to meet your sleepy gaze; the only way he’d truly be able to discern whether you’re telling him the truth. “You listening, honey?”

That’s impossible, you could never hurt me, you want to say, but settle on a less-taxing: “No, I enjoyed it,” and shake your head, giving him a content smile as you nudge your forehead at his chin. “Just give me a minute before the next round.”

He lets out an exasperated laugh. Bumps his nose to yours. “You’re crazy,” he teases, meeting your lips in another fond kiss: chaste but deep, meaningful. Sits in his marrows like candied honey. “Can we at least have dinner first, sweetheart?”

“Old man needs his sustenance?” you jest, letting out a yelp when he pokes at your waist and burrows his face into your neck to nip playfully. “Okay! Okay. Dinner first, Jack.”

“Then you can have me any way you want,” he agrees, thumbing a stray strand from your face. Painfully domestic, he muses, for what’s just occurred between you two.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you narrow. But he lets out an amused snort in reply.

“You like when I threaten people, baby. You just proved that about five minutes ago with the most intense blowjob I’ve ev—”

“Dinner!” you override, face aflame once more as you smack a hand over his mouth. “Hungry. Let’s?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he smiles.

[brutalizermp3]

Just My Luck - F.L

mdni • 18+ only

summary: Months into a dry spell and hours into a bad day, you get bailed on by yet another date. Lucky for you, your best buddy ‘ER Ken’ is always looking out for you, and eager to turn your day around.

tags/warnings: light angst, friends-to-lovers, smut, car sex, pet names (baby, beautiful), unprotected sex, accidental creampie, service top!Langdon (he talks u thru it i just know he does)

word count: 3.6k

A/N: seems to be kind of a theme in my fics lately…can we tell i want to go on a date. also can be read as either cheating or wholesome, family-friendly, god-fearing divorced!Langdon, depending on ur freaky inclinations. like marriage is not mentioned at all but i thought i would put it out there...bc EYE was thinking abt cheating #sorry #problematicfave

Just as you think things are looking up, the PTMC swoops back in to remind you; the other shoe always drops. Since the sun rose on this shitty, shitty day, you’ve already had to deal with mouthy elderly patients and two sets of parents bringing their children in, only to decide that your treatments aren’t whole grain or godly enough for their liking. You almost slipped in a small puddle of mystery liquid on your way to this very exam room. The clacking of your flailing lanyard is just the icing on the cake. 

On cue, Langdon strides in, surveying the room with his cold, vacant doctor-stare. When his eyes land on you, they crinkle at the edges. Not with joy, but in mockery. He approaches, tutting and saying your name. 

“We have got to stop meeting like this.” In one deft movement, he pulls back your lanyard and takes another look at the patient. Standing behind you, his breath fans against your neck. “Hold compressions,” Robby orders.

It takes a few more rounds but finally, the patient starts awake and you shudder with relief. You snatch your badge out of Langdon’s hands and he nods, giving you a mock-salute. 

“You're welcome.”

Shaking your head and biting back a laugh, you ignore him all the way to the lockers. “You’re lucky it’s the end of our shift.” 

“Oh yeah, and why’s that?” 

“Because,” you say, opening your locker’s door right in his face and shutting it with a snap. “If I had to be around you any longer, you’d be sitting in one of those beds.” 

“Ouch,” he teases, rubbing an imaginary wound over his heart. Your eyes linger on his fingers, on the dainty little beads of his daughter’s friendship bracelet. That final detail makes you shake your head, and walk a little faster away from the building.

“Somebody chasing you?” Langdon has to jog to keep up with you, hands in his pockets. 

“Sort of,” you answer, leaping over a suspicious puddle. Langdon glares back at it as if he means to give it a stern talking to. You chuckle. “You know, I think I can make it to the bus stop on my own.” 

“Sure, but then you'd have to go without my riveting conversation.” Even when he barely gets a laugh, Langdon remains undeterred. “So, what’s the rush?”

You grimace. “Have you always been so nosy?” 

“Have you always been so secretive?” 

“Touche, Clark Kent.” 

He grins at the nickname but continues shooting expectant glances. 

“If you must know.” You’re forced to pause at a traffic light, jabbing the button with your elbow. “I’ve got a bus to catch.”

“That doesn’t really answer the question, you get the same bus everyday.”

“Which you know, because…?” 

He pauses beside you, shrugging and looking around as if he expects a passerby to give him a good excuse. “I drive past this stop everyday. You’re hard to miss.”

“Again, I say: nosy.”  

He ignores you, scratching behind his ear. “So, you need a ride.” 

“I can wait for the bus.”

“Or,” he shrugs again, “I can give you a ride.” 

You swallow back the childish joke that’s just itching to jump out and readjust your bag, frowning at the twinge of pain in your shoulder. Langdon doesn’t miss a beat, holding his hand out.

“Let me take that.” 

“I’ve got it.” As you step forwards, he blocks your path, arms held up in surrender. 

“You’re not gonna let me help?”  

You’re not sure why he wants to. The understanding, you thought, was that this friendship runs on a delicate balance of familiarity and professionalism. Joking, jabbing, borderline flirting, is all safe if it’s happening behind the hectic walls of the Pitt. It's a stress tonic, it keeps morale high. What it doesn’t do, is cross any lines. 

Instinctively, your hand shoots up to shoo him away again, but you pause. You do need the ride. Already, tonight’s planned outfit is doomed to be void of accessories and your hair will have to forgo any of the styling options you dreamed up last night. There won’t even be time for a pre-date snack. You groan. 

“Sure,” you say, trying to tamp down the fluttering in your chest. 

Langdon even insists on helping you carry your bag upstairs. He takes your key, opens your front door for you, ushers you inside and offers to make you a tea, coffee, anything you want. 

“So, your date tonight,” Langdon starts, dropping your things on the sofa. “Is he…you know. A boyfriend, or what?” 

While he scoops coffee into a mug, you get to work. As you change, you rush between rooms, frantically, calling over your shoulder or yelling responses to each other. “Never met him. We’ve been set up. My friends think it ‘could be good for me’, or something.”

He waits for the coffee to brew in the living room, standing with his hands braced behind the sofa. “You disagree?” 

“I don’t need a boyfriend.” 

His gaze swivels as you hobble back and forth with curlers in your hair and one heel on. You wave a hand in his direction, decidedly ignoring that, if he wanted to, he could’ve left by now. 

Langdon nods, brow furrowing. “Do you want one?” 

You wave your hands again and keep staunchly quiet. Now, you’re strutting around in both heels, rifling through your sofa cushions to find a lipgloss you could swear was last seen in this room. Langdon watches in polite silence, presumably for as long as he can stand, before asking, “Do you need any help?” 

“I’m fine, Frank. Thank you. Ah ha.” Inexplicably, the lost lipgloss is strewn between an armchair’s fuzzy cushions. You pull it out and stride back to your room. Getting ready at  record speed, you messily unwind the curlers from your hair and flipping your head back and forth. When you leave your room, Langdon is still hanging around and you still have enough time for a budget-saving snack, in case the date is a cheapskate. 

“You want some ramen?” 

He blanches. “Ramen?” 

“I don’t know, something light. In case–” You’re interrupted by your phone buzzing from the sofa. Langdon looks down like it’s calling him names and you pick it up, scrolling frantically. There’s no real reason to be nervous, to be so sure that bad news is coming. Worrying can’t stop it, and it can’t protect you from the sinking disappointment when you open your messages and it’s staring you right in the face.

When you notice Langdon stirring, you cringe away from him. “What?” 

You grimace back at the phone, then roll your eyes. Neither seems to get rid of the weight of rejection, curdling acidic at the base of your throat. You roll your eyes again and force a laugh. “He’s not coming.” 

“What do you mean?”

You hold your phone up absently. “Uh, the guy, my date. He can’t make it or something.”

“Or something,” Langdon deadpans.

Shrugging out more forced nonchalance, you read straight from your phone. “Sorry, have to cancel, my buddy’s having car troubles and I said I’d help him out.”

“Sounds plausible.” 

A sarcastic response of your own sits on the tip of your tongue, but you’re interrupted by the kettle boiling. It’s just a distant, bubbling hiss, but the shock brings a spurt of tears to your eyes. 

“Hey,” Langdon begins. You shake your head and turn away, hands cupping your own face when he immediately starts to follow. 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re crying.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Then turn around.”

You let out a growling sigh. Embarrassed, you face him and shrug, equal parts exasperated and expectant. 

It seems like he’s about to say something but, even when you turn your palms up and raise your eyebrows, he keeps his mouth shut. About twenty minutes ago, this was fun. Now, unreasonable as it may be, you’re starting to feel a little rejected. 

“Why are even you still here?” 

He slowly pushes up from the sofa, blinking rapidly. “I…Do you want me to go?” 

“No.” You groan, hands running down your face. 

“Should I get your coffee?” 

“No, it’s fine.” 

“Do you–”

You hold a hand up to silence him, trying to come up with a polite way to get rid of him. It would be easier if he wasn’t looking at you so wide-eyed and eager, if that strand of hair wasn’t hanging over his forehead, so primed to be romantically swept away. If he wasn’t being so nice. 

“What do you need?” he asks, finally. You groan again, shaking your head. 

“A day off,” you joke. Still aiming for nonchalance, you mutter the next one under your breath. “An orgasm. Or two.” 

Langdon’s face drops for a split second, expression buffering. Then, he blinks away his shock. “Let me take you out.”

“What?” 

“You wanna go out, right? If this guy won’t, let me do it.” 

Now it’s your turn to buffer, mouth snapping open and shut aimlessly. 

“I was already gonna be your ride there, right?” You don’t remember agreeing to that, but he’s not done. “I’ll take care of everything. I’m not sure where he was taking you but there’s this Italian place downtown–cliche, I know–you’ll love it.” 

As he talks, he runs a hand through his hair, grabs your handbag off the sofa and takes the first jacket hanging by your front door. He checks that you’re following and gives you a certain, reassuring nod. 

“Fuck that guy, alright? Let’s have the best goddamn night of our lives.”

As you’re pulling into traffic, thick, dark grey clouds threaten the humid kind of rainfall that ruins your hair and makes it hard to breathe. It may also be the tears threatening to fall. Langdon’s sweet, really, but it’s hard not to feel a little guilty. Beside you, he hums and taps the steering wheel, clearly pleased with himself for fixing yet another one of your problems. In truth, he’s only making them worse. Tonight sort of had an express purpose, which his presence makes impossible. You spend the entire car ride sending him awkward glances, hands fidgeting in your lap. At some point, you’re gonna have to tell him to go home. 

He pulls into a parking complex, practically abandoned by the time you get to a floor with availability. Booming thunder rolls in the distance as you stumble out, limbs suddenly gelatine. Langdon has to lend you an arm to keep you steady out of the car park. More thunder, and a swell of nauseating anxiety behind your sternum. Today’s stress–the week’s stress, if you’re honest, the last few month’s–is catching up with you, fast. Irrational apprehension seizes in your gut and you cling to Langdon’s arm. 

“We should go.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” 

He frowns softly, but doesn’t drop your arm. In fact, as you try pulling away, he only clings harder. “Hey, remember what I said? Don’t let that asshole ruin your night.” 

You shake your head. “It’s not about him.” 

Only, it is. Shaking your head some more, you let out a coarse laugh. You’re a doctor, for christ’s sake. You save lives and even when you can’t, you stare death right in the face. Bad days don’t paralyse you; they can’t. Normally, it’s because you get a little help: from friends, one-off dates or recurring flings, colleagues willing to vent over a few beers. All that, though, is precautionary. You’re not supposed to need help, or much of anything at all. The realisation of anything less is humbling at best. At worst, it’s humiliating and because you can't catch a break, this just has to be the worst case scenario. 

Langdon’s hands are cupped around your cheeks. Palms warm and broad, you only notice you’re crying when he lifts them from your face to rub your shoulders, where goosebumps are sprouting in the sudden chilly breeze. The barrage of questions you’re expecting never comes. Instead, he simply pulls you to his chest, wraps his arms around you and whispers against your temple. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay, I got you.” 

You bite back more tears but your shoulders still shake, though you can’t tell whether it’s your sobbing or a bout of shivers. Langdon runs his hands over your arms again, expression pinched. Rain trickles, then picks up, pattering against the cars at the parking complex's edge. 

“Chilly, huh?” 

“It’s fine, we, uh…” you pull away, gesturing vaguely. “We should…” 

“Go downstairs?”

You shake your head. 

“Go home?” 

“I don’t know, I think…I don’t know.” 

“How about we sit in the car?” he chuckles, “Let you figure it out somewhere warm.” 

Shut in the car, it actually does become a little easier to breathe. Langdon sits beside you, still cooing. 

“Alright, alright. I’m not your daughter.”

“Sorry,” he says, sheepish. “Force of habit.”

It gets quiet and you let it, relishing the steady hum of rainfall and whooshing wind. The longer you sit, the weather only gets more and more intense. Even if you wanted to now, you’re not going anywhere. 

“What are you thinking?” 

“Nothing.” You groan, shoving your face into your hands. “Tonight was supposed to go so differently.” 

“I know, I’m sorry. I really did want to fix things, though.” 

Your posture straightens and you fix him with an almost accusatory stare. “Why?” 

“I don’t know,” he fidgets, “it seemed like you were having a rough day.” 

“And you thought I needed you to fix it?” 

“Is there anyone else?” He asks the question to his hands, left thumb pressing into right palm as he massages his nerves away. 

“I don’t need anyone else.” Your breath hitches. “I don’t need anyone, period.” 

“But you could use someone. We all could, right?” 

“Don’t you have enough of your own shit to worry about?”

“Don’t you?” 

By now your shoulders and thighs are pressed together, both of you somehow shifted to the middle seat. You look up at Langdon, his pale blue eyes darting around your face. 

“So, I could use you.” 

“Yeah.” His hand is on your thigh and you don’t remember leaning closer, but his heartbeat beats urgently against your shoulder. “You could.” 

Without allowing yourself a second of rational thought, you lean even closer. A single movement of reckless abandon and your lips are smashing into Langdon’s, his arm curling around your waist and pulling you into his lap. 

“Is this a good idea?” you whisper into his mouth.

“Does it feel good?” 

You nod, rolling your hips onto his.

“Then let's think about it later.” 

He cups your face and kisses you again, softer this time, his tongue gently pushing through your lips. His hands caress a grounding pressure into your body. First on your thighs, then your back, then the back of your head as you grind into each other. You’re already desperate for him to undress you, but can’t tell how hard he is until he groans into your mouth, hips stuttering. 

“God, you know–I never thought it would happen like this.” 

Appalled, you pull away. “You’ve thought about this?” 

Langdon only pulls you back with more pressure. His kisses trail from your jaw to your neck. “All the time. Can I take this off?” He gently tugs on your dress, then shakes his head and slides his hands up your skirt instead. “Actually, keep it on. No sense in you getting all dressed up for nothing.”

You run your hands over his chest and his breath catches when your fingers hit his nipples. His hips grind further upwards, as if it hasn’t occurred to him he can fuck you for real. You send his question back at him, tugging on his jeans’ zipper and he groans. 

“Uh–I can’t.”  

“Why?” 

“I don’t, uh…” He gestures around the car, then at his crotch. 

“No condoms?” Avoiding eye contact, he nods. You giggle, grabbing his wrists to move his hands further up your skirt, when his fingers graze your underwear, you lean in. “I guess you’ll just have to practise some self control then, huh?” 

You urge him to slide off your underwear and you unzip his jeans. Pulling him free from his boxers makes his jaw hang open and his hands clench around you absently. 

“What–fuck–what do you like?” he asks, as you pump him up and down slowly. 

“Well, for a start, this.” You tease his tip against you, dragging him through your increasing wetness as he watches, jaw still slack. When his hips start to jut forward, you open your legs wider and press against him, so that he’s as wrapped up as possible without being inside you. Langdon’s breath hitches and his hips roll automatically, chasing more of your warmth. 

“Yeah? Just this?” He bites his lip and watches as you grind on his tip, then sink down to his balls, always sliding on just enough of his shaft to drive him crazy. “You want anything else? Want me to play with your tits?” 

You moan and he takes the hint, rubbing one nipple with his thumb and kneading around the other, getting torturously close, then massaging in the opposite direction. 

“Does that feel good? Want anything else?”

All you can do is whimper as his tip catches on your clit. You bite down on your lip, hips still working frantically, chasing as much of him as you can get. Langdon’s arms wrap around you more tightly and he bucks into you, straining with the effort of staying on the outside. 

“Shit, that’s it, right there. Fuck, you’re so wet, I–fuck–I could do this all day.” 

Still biting back moans, you bury your face against his neck and he tuts. “No, no, don’t do that.” He cups your face and brings it level with his, looking you straight in the eyes with his thumb catching your lip. “Lemme hear you baby, come on. Tell me how it feels.” 

You whine. “It feels good.” 

“Yeah?” 

Your back arches as you try to press even closer against him and you nod through another whimpering moan. 

“That’s it,” he coos. “Good girl. Take whatever you want. Whatever you need.” 

The more he keeps talking, the more empty you feel between your legs. You need him to fill you, to rock his hips into you until there’s no room inside you for this bad day, your hectic job and the way it shreds your nerves. Nothing but him. 

You aren’t sure how to tell him any of this, so you roll into him slower. Grabbing his face to give him deep, messy kisses, you let his tip slide further and further into you until he pulls back. 

“Are you sure?” Though his voice is full of apprehension, his eyes are blown wide and eager. 

“I need you,” you say against his face, hips never stopping. 

“Shit,” he moans, “yeah, okay, I’ll–fuck, yeah. Whatever you want.”

As you sink down onto him, he holds your hips in a steady grip, letting off a constant stream of reassurances. 

“I’ve got you, beautiful, just like that.” When he’s all the way in, he gets a little less coherent, but far more insistent. “That’s it, you’re–Oh, fuck. Fuck baby, just like that. Use me, baby, take whatever you want from me, I’m all yours.” 

Thick and hard, he fills you perfectly. As you ride him, a dragging pleasure builds, spreading like a fever down your thighs, up your back. It heats your face and draws long, whining moans from between your lips, panting interrupted only by you crying out Langdon’s name while he offers more encouragement. 

“Feels good?”

“Uh huh,” you moan. In response, he moans too. 

“I know, baby, I know.” He moans again, voice breaking as you clench around him. “See how I can make it better? How I can make it–fuck, baby–make it all go away.” 

You moan in agreement. This time, when you lay your head against his shoulder, he lets you. 

“You close, beautiful?” 

You nod and he brings your face closer so he can mutter in your ear. From his ragged breathing it sounds like he’s close, too. 

“Alright, baby,” he says, thrusting up harder into you. “That’s it, right there. Feels so good, doesn’t it?”

All you can do anymore is moan. He nods and brings a hand back to your tits to sloppily circle a thumb over your nipple.

“So you’re gonna come, alright? Come for me, baby, show me how good it feels. Show me–” he grunts, “how good it feels to drain my fucking cock, alright? Lemme feel it, baby, I wanna feel it. Show me how much you like using this thick fucking cock to get off.” 

His voice only gets more hoarse, talking you through your orgasm so fervently, he might as well be begging. 

Your orgasm crests and you don’t even have time to react; it simply ripples through you. Waves of pleasure curl your spine inwards and Langdon’s hands don’t cease on your nipples. He fucks you through it, thrusts haphazard as he reaches his own peak. His moans get breathy and strained as he cums, and when he finally floods you, he wraps his arms around you and stills, buried to the hilt. It takes a while for either of you to get out of the post-sex haze but when you do, problem-solving Langdon is back. 

“Shit, I shouldn’t–I can go to a convenience store right now, I’ll–” 

You giggle, gesturing to the rain still pounding outside. “It’s okay, you’re fine.” 

“Are you sure, I’m so sorry I wasn’t even thinking, I don’t–”

“Langdon,” you giggle and pat his shoulder, delirious. “Don’t worry. Let’s think about it later.” 

[polkedot]

੭꣒ ˖ ❛ bf!frank who loves when you can’t take him.

c.ws :: mdni , smut , babytalk , a lot of praise , spooning sex , size kink , overstimulation , mild fluff , body worship.

frank is so super patient with his sweet girlfriend who still can't take all of him even after a few times together. even after a few years of being together.

every single time, without fail, your smaller hands end up pressed flat and desperate against his torso, keeping him from sinking in all the way. and he never pushes it — of course not — just watches you with those soft, half-lidded eyes of his while you're already making such a mess on just half his length, whimpering and clenching around him like you're trying so hard to be good for him.

he knows you are.

"it’s alright, sweetheart," he murmurs gruffly, one big hand coming up to cover both of yours on his stomach, holding them there in reassurance. "take what you can. don't hurt yourself." but his voice is strained, jaw tight, because fuck — you're so wet and tight and warm. he’s barely holding himself back at this point. he can feel you fluttering around him, and he wants nothing more than to just sink in deep and stay there, rut his hips only occasionally.

you're babbling apologies as you usually do, face hot with humiliation because you can see how much of him is still outside, even if he’s cupping your face with his free hand. glistening and dripping with you. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, 'm trying-“

"shh, none of that," he shushes, leaning down to kiss your forehead with swollen lips, then your cheeks, so sweetly it makes your chest ache numbly. "you're doing so well, yeah? look how good you're taking me already." his thumb snakes down in search of your clit and you gasp when he reaches the nub, back arching involuntarily, and he groans when you clench down harder. "there you go, hm?"

you nod frantically in wordless response even though you're not sure, because you want to be good for him, want to give him everything. he pushes in another inch, slow and careful, watching your face scrunch up the whole time. your hands scrabble for reserve against his abs but he's stronger, holding himself there while you adjust involuntarily.

he starts moving in shallow thrusts after you’ve accumulated enough mixed liquid between your folds to even move properly. just working the half he can fit, and he knows it's already so much — the stretch, the fullness, the way his tip keeps hitting that spot that makes your toes curl despite yourself. you're soaking him completely, obscene wet sounds filling the room in tow, and you want to die from how humiliating it is.

"listen to that," he breathes hoarsely, eyes dark and focused on where you're connected, struggling to hold off. "making such a pretty mess on my cock, baby. getting me all wet." his hand slides from your clit to your hip, gripping tight. "think you can take a little more for me? just a little?"

and even though you still can't take all of him, even though your hands are still pressed against his chest, trying to keep him from going too deep, he looks at you like you've given him everything — like you're everything — and somehow that makes the embarrassment worth it.

you nod.

"breathe, sweetheart," he coaxes, voice half praise and half eagerness. "that's my girl. so fucking wet for me. you're perfect, you know that?"

a/n: this blog is moving to @pixelpearlle, follow that account to keep up!

[sinner-as-saint]

tangled up with you all night

Ryland Grace x Reader 

Summary: Your first date with Ryland was a disaster. At least he thinks so. And he believes that he absolutely must make up for it at the end of the night. After all, he desperately wants a second date so… he apologises for being such a chaotic date in the only way he knows how. And hopes that it works. 

Themes: simp!ryland, explicit language, smut, praise kink, mild hair pulling kink, soft!dom!ryland, glasses stay ON idc

a/n: blond man with the fluffy hair and nerdy glasses so fine he got me out of ‘retirement’ 

The date went horribly. 

According to him at least. 

You hadn’t made up an excuse, or had a fake emergency phone call at any point that got you out of dinner. But Ryland knew he’d fucked it up tonight. He was genuinely surprised that you stayed till the end. It was a simple date, nothing too fancy. And yet he believed he had ruined your night by yapping your ears off. He talked about everything and nothing all at once. His kids at school, his classes, his new research, all of it and more. 

He was a little embarrassed now upon realising that he’d been talking so much the whole night, rarely ever stopping. And he was so certain you’d never want to talk or even text him again. But then you asked him if he wanted to walk you home. 

Ryland agreed a little too quickly. Then he felt embarrassed again. But you just laughed at his awkward little mumbles as he tried to play it cool. 

The whole walk he promised himself he’d finally ask you questions and let you do the talking. But he ended up going off on yet another random tangent about why physical laws even exist at all. In his defense, your follow-up questions were so engaging that he felt like he could keep this conversation going forever. 

Before Ryland knew it, you were both standing on the steps leading to your front porch. With the soft golden light like a halo all around you, Ryland knew in that moment that you were the most stunning woman he had ever and will ever meet. And he felt even worse about the evening. 

He couldn’t keep it in anymore. So he rambled on. 

“I’m sorry,” He said, followed quickly by, “I know I’ve been a– a mess. I am a mess.” He repeated and carried on talking. “I really wanted tonight to go well and I ruined everything by talking so much. About school, about my research, about my students and work and– and I didn’t even ask you anything about yourself, or where you are from. I barely even let you speak. Or tell me anything about yourself. On top of that I’m wearing this stupid shirt. That’s not even the worst part. I didn’t let you speak. Can you believe that? I went on a date with the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met and I didn’t even ask her where she was born. All I know is that you moved here, but I mean–,” 

You cut him off by gently grabbing him by the collars of his blazer and pulling him in for a kiss. He wasn’t expecting it so Ryland was stunned for a second or two. Then he finally kissed you back, his arms instinctively finding themselves around your waist, pulling you into his warm chest. 

Fuck, he thought to himself, it felt nice to have his arms around you. 

When you pulled away, Ryland was still a little stunned. All he did was blink at you with his clear blue ocean eyes. He quickly reached up and adjusted his glasses which slid down his nose. But he said nothing. He just stared down at you. 

You kept your hands around his shoulders, looking down quickly and noticed that some type of nerdy t-shirt peeked through the blazer. It only made him even more attractive. What a nerd, you thought, sighing with adoration. 

“Listen here, Dr. Grace.” You teased him playfully, “I wouldn’t have agreed to go on a date with you if I didn’t like a passionate, awkward, kind of nerdy, incredibly handsome, and talkative man. Okay?” You smiled up at him. 

“Okay?” He sounded just a little confused. Poor thing. 

You leaned in and gave him yet another sweet kiss on the cheek. His rough stubble tickling your mouth as you did. Ryland spoke then, yet again apologising, “I’m sorry. I know that was a terrible first date. But I would really like a second one. Please, I’ll be better. I promise.” He said, giving you those sad puppy eyes. The depths of which one could write endless poems about. 

“You wanna come in for a bit?” You suggested. “And maybe we can talk about that second date?” You spoke, your hands deliberately trailing down his body. From his shoulders to his chest. He was nice and tall, the right amount of lean and muscular. Lots and lots of terrain to explore. 

Ryland was quiet, apparently captivated by the way your hands delicately roamed down his chest. His breathing deepened. His brain was short circuiting. All he could do was silently follow your hands and fingers as they drew random shapes all over his chest. He was certain you’d be able to feel his heart thundering inside his chest by now. 

“Ryland?” 

“Yeah. Yes? I’m listening.” He said, then cleared his throat. He hadn’t been listening. 

Fuck he was so adorable when nervous. 

“Do you plan on lingering out on my front porch, or will you please come inside so I can kiss you like I’ve been dying to all night?” 

— 

Stumbling into bed with Ryland crashing into you as you fell made you feel like you were floating. Like you were on a cloud and everything was perfect. Ryland was almost as giddy as you were. His touch was gentle, and a little hesitant. He waited for a greenlight from you each time his touch and kisses got more and more heated. He’d do that thing where he’d reach for you, but then look at you over his glasses to see if it was okay, then he’d proceed enthusiastically. 

It made you all warm and fuzzy inside each time he did that. 

Contrary to what Ryland thought, you would say you had a great night. Nice food with a gorgeous, intelligent man who was gentle and kind and cared about his job and the environment. Who also happened to be a passionate speaker, and who spent the whole night entertaining you with his silly stories and elaborate scientific theories and more. What bliss! 

“We can slow down,” Ryland said, in between steamy kisses, “If you want.” Another quick kiss. “We can watch a movie, or–,” He cut himself off by kissing you harder, pulling you closer. “We don’t have to, I mean I want to, but it’s not like I’m expecting you to–,” 

“Ryland. Shut up and kiss me.” 

“Okay.” 

When you finally got him out of his blazer, you had to take a moment and giggle over his dorky t-shirt. One with a giant cat sitting on the Golden Gate Bridge. He looked down and let out a dramatic sigh. 

“Please tell me you have another one of these.” You said, already working to get him out of the t-shirt. 

“I… I do.” He sounded defeated as he tossed his shirt over his head, messing up his glasses. 

“Good,” You fixed his glasses for him before you climbed onto his lap as he sat on the edge of your bed. Looking glorious, even more so than before now that he was shirtless, just in his jeans. “Because you’re leaving this one right here. For me.” You laughed when he tried to hide his face into the crook of your neck. 

“You can keep it.” His voice sounded all muffled as he spoke into your neck. Then he pulled away and looked up, his rough cheek tickling your skin in the process again. “As long as I get to take you out on another date.” 

When you smiled and nodded at him, before leaning in and kissing him deeply, Ryland felt like the world around him had gotten a little brighter. 

And he kissed you back with equal excitement, flipping you around and laying you down in bed as he hovered above you. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

“It is a ‘yes’, Dr. Grace.” You confirmed, reaching to touch his face. 

Ryland smiled and said, “Well then I better make up for tonight’s disaster.” He leaned down and kissed your neck. “I’m sorry again, I keep rambling anytime I have the chance.” He kissed further down your neck as he spoke. “Shut me up next time. Tell me to shut up. Please.” 

You giggled as he kissed and carefully bit your skin along your collarbones, making you arch your back, pressing your body further into him. “I will.” You spoke, then gasped in pleasure and surprise when you felt Ryland’s warm hands on your inner thighs. 

He pulled away from your neck and looked down at you, “Are you okay, baby? Is this okay?” He asked in a hushed tone, keeping his hands right where they were on your skin. 

“Yes.” You whispered, then gasped again when he dove back in to kiss your neck while his hands caressed your thighs, massaging them gently. Almost lovingly. His touch was so slow in fact that you were getting more and more desperate the longer he took to touch you where you craved him the most. “Ryland?” You couldn’t take it anymore. He hadn’t even gotten you out of your dress yet. Meanwhile he was shirtless, all that body on display and torturing you. 

“Hmm?” He looked up at you. Mouth mere inches off your skin. 

You almost groaned at how he genuinely seemed to have no idea how badly you wanted him. “Please stop teasing me.” You began lowering the shoulder straps of your dress all by yourself. You needed him. Now. 

But Ryland stopped you by carefully seizing your wrists and pinning them above your head. He did it so smoothly too. “Now, when did I say you could do that?” He whispered against your open mouth. “Hmm? Did I ask you to do that?” 

You shook your head, looking up into his gorgeous eyes and wondering where that dominant tone came from. You weren’t complaining. Quite the contrary. “No. You didn’t.” 

He nodded slowly. “That’s right. I said I was gonna make it up to you, didn’t I? Well, I am. So let me take my time. Okay, baby? I know you want it. I can feel it. You think I can’t tell how wet you are by the way you’re drenching my hand.” For emphasis, he pressed his fingers in between your legs, pressing against your very wet, very thin underwear. “Hmm? You think I can’t tell?” 

“Ryland, please…” You whimpered when you realised he was purposely messing with you. And who knows for how long he intended to do that. 

“Oh poor you.” He teased, leaning closer until your warm breaths mingled. “I’m gonna take care of you, don’t you worry. Just let me take my time. I’ve got you. I know what you want, and I’m gonna give it to you. Just… let me. Can you do that for me, baby?” He kissed the corner of your mouth, making you whimper again, “Can you let me take my time with you?” 

“Fuck…” You mumbled. “Yes. Yes, please. Just… I need you to touch me, Ryland. Please.” You begged. 

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry.” 

He took his time in sliding the straps of your dress down your shoulders, dragging the soft fabric down your body, leaving you more and more naked and exposed under him. 

“So beautiful.” He mumbled to himself as his kisses followed the fabric of the dress lowering down your torso. 

You shivered once he left your dress bunched around your waist carelessly, not fully undressing you. It wasn’t just because of the slightly cold air that you shivered. It was because of how intensely Ryland was staring at you. His glasses had slid down that perfect nose yet again, he didn’t adjust it this time. And somehow it made him look even hotter. 

Fuck. Being so attracted to a man’s glasses’ placement has to be a more worrying issue. But you didn’t care. All you cared about was needing his hands on you. 

By the time Ryland finally got to actually touching you, you were a whimpering, panting, needy mess. Just writhing under him. Your brain all foggy. Your body aching with desire. 

But he was such a fucking tease it was driving you insane. 

He kissed down your exposed torso, your hips, your thighs, whispering, “Look at you, huh? So needy.” He kissed right above your clit, his warm breath making your body come alive. “Is this what you want? You want me to make you feel good? Huh, baby? Talk to me, come on. Use your words.” 

You weren’t sure if you’d sound coherent if you spoke but you tried your best. “Yes, please. Ryland… make it feel good.” 

“I will.” He whispered, as his hands spread your legs and you felt his mouth right on top of you. Hungry. Seeking. Wanting. His warm tongue licked along your slit, his hands spreading your thighs even further apart to give him better access. 

It was rare to find a man who knew what he was doing down there. Especially with his mouth. But Ryland surprised you yet again with that skilled tongue of his. Your hand moved lazily, fingers sliding easily into his luscious, silky soft hair, messing it up even more than it already was. 

You felt like your body was melting under his touch. His hands rubbing your thighs adoringly while his mouth drove you insane. He was good at making you cry out in pleasure. His tongue, skilled and soft against your wet folds. His lips with the right amount of suction on your clit. 

You held yourself up for a moment, your elbows digging into your mattress as you looked down at him. All that golden skin, that faint layer of sweat all over him… he looked divine. 

Then there were those eyes… 

Even through his glasses you could see the spark in them. You saw how they lit up each time you let out a higher pitch moan, or each time your fingers tugged on his hair, scratching his scalp so good he even let out a moan himself while he ate you out. 

“Fuck. Ryland.” You cried out, writhing under him as he pushed his tongue deeper into you. Teasing you with the softest, deliberate licks. You couldn’t look away then. His stare was intense, giving you chills despite the heat inside you rising like never before. 

He smirked then. The sound of his name leaving your mouth so desperately gave him such a rush. It drove him crazy. “Oh, you like that, huh?” He whispered, his rough stubble brushing against your skin, rough against your inner thighs. He slowly brought a finger up to your clit, sliding it agonisingly slowly down your slit, parting your wet folds. “What about this? You like this? You sound like you do.” He paused for a second, slid a finger inside you, stroking your walls gently while he placed his mouth back on your clit for a taste and said, “You sure taste like you do.” His tongue slowly circled your throbbing clit, then down, parting your wet folds with ease.  

Ryland had you coming undone all over his tongue in no time. His deep blue eyes watched you in awe and how you lost control under his touch, legs shaking as he teased your clit and finger-fucked your ever so gently.  

With his arms keeping you pinned to the mattress and unable to escape, he was so quick to figure out what worked and what didn’t. What made you squeeze his head in between your thighs and what made your back arch. What made you tug on his hair harder because he loved that and what made you breathless. 

“Come for me.” He whispered, before latching his mouth onto your pussy. Devouring you. His tongue moved in a way that made you lose control. 

You were gasping for air, moaning his name, wanting more, and more, and more… You came hard, all over his tongue, your walls clenching violently around his finger, your moans and gasps of pleasure filled the room. 

Ryland finally let go of your shaky legs and kissed his way up your body, hovering above you again. He stared deep into your eyes. You couldn’t, no matter how hard you tried, look away from his pink, glistening lips. His hair was definitely messier now that you’d been so rough with it. You slid your hands back into his hair, massaging his scalp a little. 

Ryland closed his eyes for a moment, savouring your touch. Then opened his eyes again and asked, “Are you okay?” 

You nodded, looking up at him. “I liked that.” You murmured, giddy with pleasure. 

Ryland smiled down at you. “I know you did. Pretty sure I have scratches all over my neck. Gonna have to wear some turtlenecks to work for a day or two.” 

You both laughed. 

Then you asked, “Can I touch you now?” Your hands were already reaching down for his belt. He nodded, but you were already undoing his buckle as you pushed Ryland down on the bed next to you and got on top of him, straddling his lap. The rough denim brushing against your bare thighs. 

Ryland reached out to touch your face, caressing your cheek tenderly. “You can do whatever you want.” 

So you did. In no time you were in between his legs, ass up in the air, with his cock in your mouth. 

Ryland had that pleading look on his face, groaning as you took him into your mouth as much as you could. “Fuck, look at you.” He whispered, still caressing your face lovingly as your tongue teased him in the best ways. “Keep your eyes on me, baby. I like how you look at me.” 

He held your head gently, in that same adoring manner you were starting to get used to, and watched you intently with parted pink lips, gasping in pleasure, as you took him. “There we go.” He said, “You’re so good at this, aren’t you?” His voice was so gentle. “You’ve been wanting to do that for a while, huh?” 

You held his stare and nodded. 

Ryland was so gentle with you. Even as his gasps and moans got louder and louder. 

“Fuck.” He swore. “You want more, baby?” He lifted his hips up slowly, he held your head gently and pushed himself deeper into your mouth. “Yeah? Is that what you wanted?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing through your nose, taking him in until he hit the back of your throat. You felt all of him, his smooth skin, his raw taste, and you couldn’t get enough. Your fingers clawed at his thighs through his jeans as he groaned and grunted, filling your mouth. 

“Oh fuck.” He swore again. “God damn it, baby, slow down.” His voice cracked as he grunted while also moving his hips, shoving his cock deeper into your mouth and helping you swallow more and more of him. His head tilted back, his lips parted as he gasped for air while you moved your mouth up and down his cock. And he looked glorious while he lost control. Those damn glasses almost falling off his face. 

You teased him as much as you could, but he soon began begging for you to stop. 

“Come on,” He pleaded. “I can’t come yet, baby please.” 

Followed by more pleas. 

“Please, I really wanna fuck you.” 

“Oh my god, please slow down.” 

“Please don’t make me come yet.” 

“Slow down, baby.” 

All said in a desperate hiss. 

You weren’t ready for the whimpers that followed his pleas. And you almost gave in and made him come because his moans and whimpers were so damn hot, but then you slowed to a stop. Pulling away and straddling him again. 

Ryland did his best to catch his breath before flipping you two around, pinning you into the mattress again. Yet he was still panting as he looked down at you, his warm breath mingling with yours. “Had your fun?” He asked, using that playful, stern tone from earlier again. 

He sounded so different from the man who was whimpering just a minute earlier. 

You nodded, giggling, and clearly still riding that high from earlier. “You’re so hot when you beg.” 

Ryland let out a little laugh as he leaned in to kiss your nose. Then the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw, and down your neck. “Can I make you feel good again now? Hmm? Can I please fuck you, baby?” 

You whined before answering, your back arching already. “Yes, Ryland.” 

“Well spread your legs then,” He made you laugh again with his sudden, straightforward demand. 

But you obeyed quickly. Ryland cradled your head in his hands, holding you so tenderly as if he thought you were fragile. 

“I’ve got you.” He said, as he held your stare, slowly sliding inside of you, both of you moaning softly as he went. 

“Ryland…” You hissed in pleasure, unable to look away from his gorgeous blue eyes. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He whispered, nothing but desire and love in his eyes. He leaned in again, whispering against the corner of your open mouth, “Where have you been all my life, huh?” 

You felt his cock stretching you, filling you up. Every thick inch of him sliding into your tight cunt. “Oh fuck, Ryland…” You gasped. 

“I know, baby. I know.” He said, pressing his forehead to yours. He held you close as he moved his hips.

“You… you feel so good.” You could feel your eyes tearing up at how snug he felt inside you. 

“I know.” He almost whimpered again. 

He pulled away to watch you. Ryland held your stare as he reached down to grab your legs and wrapped them around his waist. He looked down to where your bodies connected, he watched his cock slowly moving in and out of you then leaned down to give you a messy kiss, swallowing your desperate moans in the process. 

“That’s it, baby. Let me in.” He whispered. 

You couldn’t help your loud moans as he moved his hips expertly. You thanked whoever or whatever taught him how to do that. You could feel your walls clenching around him as he sped up and pounded into you. 

You felt all of him stretching you, filling you up, moving rapidly in and out of you until he was all you could focus on. His eyes remained fixed on yours. Ocean blue, now familiar. 

“You feel so good…” He whispered, pounding into you relentlessly, his hand instinctively wrapping around your throat as he bent down to bite your lower lip and tug on it. “So perfect for me. My pretty girl.” 

His voice was driving you insane. You moaned at how perfect his lean body felt against yours, his weight pressing down on you. His slight stubble tickled your skin as he moved. And you slid your fingers into his hair, tugging on it even more now that you knew he liked it. He probably liked it a little too much since he wouldn’t stop letting out discreet whimpers each time you gave his hair a slightly hard pull. 

Your legs trembled as you wrapped them tighter around his waist. His thrusts, relentless and unbearably good. The pressure around your lower body, tight and hot.

Ryland looked down at you as you tightened around his cock. “Hey,” He spoke softly, his thumb toying with your lower lip. “Look at me.” When you did, he whispered, “Just hold on, okay? Don’t come yet. Just a little longer, baby.” 

You nodded, eyes half closed, but unsure if you could. He felt so fucking good and you were right on the edge… right on that fucking edge…

He must have noticed your eyes rolling back because he spoke again. 

“Come on, baby.” He pleaded again, pressing his warm forehead against yours. “I know, I know.” He reassured you. “But just hold it for me, okay? Just a minute longer, baby. I know you can do it.” He murmured. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

The tenderness and care in his voice only made you clench around him again. 

“Oh look at you. You can’t even hold it a little longer.” He gave you a lazy, cocky smile, “Are you gonna come for me now?” His hand squeezed your throat just a little, making you moan even louder. He gave you a messy kiss. “Come all over my cock then, come on.” 

You whimpered, unable to say anything because of how good he felt sliding in and out of you. The familiar pressure formed at your core and you whined again when his hand let go of your throat and his eager fingers found your clit, toying with it while he pounded into you mercilessly.

“That’s it.” He cooed when your moans got louder. “You’re doing so well for me, look at you. Now come, come all over me,” He whispered and that was all you needed to hear before you came undone all around him. Whimpering and back arching off the bed as you came hard around his cock, tightening around him. 

Ryland kept pounding into you as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him violently. Your body trembling under his intense gaze. You felt his thrust becoming irregular, and felt his cock throb against your walls violently. “Fuck.” He hissed again, then groaned as he quickly pulled out just in time and came all over your thighs.  

You whined and whimpered as you felt his cum drip down your thighs. 

“Fuck…” You whined as you caught your breath. 

“Come here,” He whispered as pulled out and he laid down beside you, pulling you into his damp, but warm chest for a cuddle. You curled up against him in no time. 

He panted, still catching his breath. “I think you deserve the t-shirt.”

You chuckled, still lust-drunk. “I think you deserve a second date.”

[project-hail-ryland]

dont you want me?

my fall off needs to be studied...y'know what else needs to be studied? me. by dr. grace.

18+ smut: ryland grace x fem!reader

cw: smut, p in v, fuckin' in the classroom, reader wears mascara & is referred to w fem pronouns

grad school au: ryland & reader are in their final year of doctoral studies. one late night in the science building leads to some serious experimentation.

not edited, SORRYYY

~

it's 10pm on a thursday and you're seated in a comfy chair in the study room of the STEM building at school. your dissertation draft is due soon and you're finishing up the final touches.

the building is now locked from the outside, leaving you and a handful of peers safely inside.

you sigh as everyone around you starts to shuffle out, waving goodbye as they walk past you.

it's 11:47 now. you are the last man standing, still typing away in the corner. your original goal was to leave by 12, but it's starting to appear less and less attainable as the seconds pass.

its 12:32 now. you stand from your seat and stretch, hands in the air as you take a big sigh. you creep out into the hallway and head toward the restroom.

as you approach the bathroom, a figure in a sweater emerges from the men's room next door, startling you so bad that you yelp.

you thought you were all alone in the building.

"jesus christ!" the figure screams, bringing a hand over his heart as he catches his breath.

you look up into his face, realizing it's just a classmate.

"god, ryland! you scared the shit out of me. seriously, i don't think i need to use the restroom anymore."

you both start laughing, relief softening the moment.

"late night for you too?" he asks, taking in your dark circles.

you nod.

"wanna take a study break?" he asks with a shrug.

"let me pee first."

after you walk out of the bathroom, you and ryland head up to the roof. there's a telescope up there that one of the astronomy graduate students left behind for everyone to use.

ryland peers through it and reports his findings back to you.

“and of course, the big dipper,” he points.

you smile, watching his finger point up into the stars.

you follow his finger down his arm to his shoulder, then to the side of his face.

he’s gorgeous.

he keeps rambling about constellations and planets and pointing his finger up at the sky.

when you don’t say anything for awhile, he worries.

“hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, pulling his eye from the scope.

you shake your head, “nothing’s wrong. just distracted, i guess.”

it’s chilly tonight, unseasonably so. ryland notices you’re shivering before you even notice it yourself.

“here,” he mumbles, peeling his sweater off and handing it to you gently.

you watch as a sliver of his stomach becomes visible as he’s pulling his sweater off.

“put it on,” he demands before you can protest.

you slip it on over your t-shirt. it’s warm and smells like him. you know that smell. you’ve sat next to it for years.

cheap shampoo, laundry detergent, a hint of deodorant, and ryland.

his sweater is soft and thick. a solid cable knit that was made with love.

“it looks good on you,” he mumbles.

you can hardly hear him.

“what?” you ask, wanting to hear it again.

“it, um, it looks good on you. really good,” he says, more confidently than before.

you blush and smile a big, goofy grin.

ryland inches closer to you.

“we’ve known each other for a long time, haven’t we?” he asks, hand coming to brush hair off your your shoulders.

“yea, i guess we have.”

“have you ever, wanted to…” he stops, searching your face.

“wanted to what?” you ask, feigning innocence, though your heart is pounding behind your ribs.

he looks into your eyes, his blue ones sparkling in the moonlight. he’s so focused on your face, just like he always is in the lab. unbreakable focus. it makes you want to crumble.

he mumbles something incoherent and leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss.

it’s nice. soft, but still electric.

his hand rests on the side of your face, gently holding it as his lips envelop yours.

you deepen it first, slipping your tongue into his mouth. he groans, his chest rumbling.

he pulls you closer, mouths still intertwined.

then he picks you up, backing you against the door you came through some 20 minutes ago.

your legs are wrapped around his waist. he presses you against the door, growing needier and needier as he kisses you sloppily.

then he puts you down, returning you to stand.

he pulls back, “is this okay?”

he slides a knee between your legs, pressing up just until he makes contact with your core.

you grind down on him in response and he moves a hand to your hip to steady you.

he moves his lips to your neck, sucking a hickey just below your ear. then he pulls away again.

“i’ve wanted you for so long,” he groans, eyes half-lidded as he watches you grind against his thigh.

“take me. im yours, ryland. i want you so bad,” you whimper.

he moans at that, hand coming to adjust himself. your eyes chase his hand and you notice him straining against his jeans.

it makes your mouth water.

“is this crazy?” he asks, suddenly spiraling.

“yeah, it is. it is crazy, but it’s perfect. i want this, i want to do this,” you answer.

that’s all he needed to hear.

he kisses you again, groaning into your mouth when your hand suddenly squeezes his length through his clothes.

you arch your back at the feeling of him, blissed out at the mere thought of having him inside of you.

“let’s go inside, i don’t know where, but i know we can’t do this on the roof,” he laughs.

you nod in agreement and turn to open the door that ryland propped open with a rock on the way out.

he grabs your hand and leads you to one of the vacant labs. nobody else is in the entire building, at least you don’t think anyone else is…

you don’t have time to worry about it, because soon enough he’s hoisting you up to sit on one of the black-top lab tables.

he’s back between your thighs, but now he’s sinking to his knees.

“help me out here, honey,” he chuckles, tugging at your waistband.

you lift your hips and help him pull down your pants and underwear, leaving your bottom half exposed for him.

he moans at the sight of you. you’re glistening wet and absolutely beautiful.

“she’s so wet for me, hmm?”

you nod frantically. it feels like he’s moving in slow motion as he scoots your body to the edge of the table and starts leaning his face in, closer and closer.

he takes a deep breath, inhaling your scent. it sends heat to your cheeks.

you gasp as he kisses the inside of your left right, hands gripping both of your legs to keep them apart.

“so pretty, smell so good,” he praises.

then he finally makes contact with where you need him most.

his tongue glides up through your soaking folds until it finds your clit. he sucks down on it, making you buck your hips.

your hands fly down to his hair, knotting it as you tug.

he continues sucking your clit, sending heat through your entire body. your hips are rocking back and forth, chasing his mouth.

he moves to lick at your hole again, nose bumping your clit now.

you moan in pleasure as you grind against the cartilage, mouth open and eyes shut as you rest back on your elbows.

“ryland, oh god. please, please fuck me,” you beg, voice higher than intended.

he shakes his head, dead set on making you cum with his mouth.

and after a few more minutes, he does. you pull his hair as your back arches, hips moving again to chase your release. you’re worried you may break his nose.

but ryland just grunts and groans, his hands have your thighs in a death grip and he will not let go no matter what.

after you come down from your orgasm, you sit up and peer down at ryland.

he’s still on his knees, his wire framed glasses are all fogged up. his eyes are still twinkling behind the thick lenses.

“was that okay?” he asks.

“are you serious?” you laugh.

he nods.

“yes, that was incredible.”

you close your legs, suddenly bashful, but he puts a hand between your knees to stop you.

“nuh uh,” he tsks. “we aren’t done yet.”

you smile up at him through your eyelashes.

“unless you want to be done! then that’s fine,” he adds quickly.

you shake your head.

“no, i want you inside of me.”

you grab him by the bottom hem of his t-shirt and pull him in, reaching up to kiss him.

“you look so pretty in my sweater,” he blushes once he pulls away.

“yeah? you wanna fuck me in it?” you tease.

he tips his head back and lets out a long sigh.

“yeah, i do. i really do,” he eventually admits.

“let me return the favor first,” you insist, hopping up from the table.

his sweater is big on you, covering some of your naked bottom half.

“you don’t have to do this,” he sighs nervously as you reach for the button of his jeans.

“i want to, ryland. want to taste you.”

you slide his jeans down, smiling when you see his nasa underwear. what a loser. you sink down to his level.

you slide them down too and watch as his pretty pink cock slaps up against his stomach.

your thighs clench instinctively. he’s so pretty. long, pink, and slightly curved. what a sight.

you look up at ryland and notice he looks nervous.

“what’s wrong, ry?” you ask, bringing your hands to your lap.

“i’ve never…done this before,” he admits, cheeks pink.

“you’ve never gotten head?” you ask in disbelief. his performance level while doing down on you was…experienced!

he shakes his head.

“no, im sorry,” he apologizes.

“why are you apologizing?” you ask sweetly, peering up at him.

“it’s embarrassing, im sorry if it turns you off.”

“no, baby. it doesn’t turn me off, i just want to make you feel good, yeah?”

he blushes at the pet name. baby. he could get used to that.

you reach out and grab his length, thumb swiping over the tip.

you take your hand away from him and spit in your palm.

“tell me if it doesn’t feel good, okay?”

he nods silently, watching as you begin to stroke him.

he throws his head back instantly as you squeeze him, hand working expertly as you twist and stroke.

you come up to kiss the underside, just above his heavy sack. there’s a vein there, it’s pulsing just for you.

“oh, oh my god,” he whines.

you lick all the way from the base to his tip, then suck the fat head into your mouth.

his hands come down to grip your face. you can tell he’s holding back, trying not to thrust his hips.

you suck him all the way in, hollowing your cheeks.

you reach around and lightly squeeze his calf, trying to let him know that it’s okay to fuck your face.

he tries it, hips bucking and stuttering as he tries to find a pace.

“i can’t,” he pulls off, shaking his head.

“what?” you ask, hand coming to wipe the spit that has slipped out of your mouth.

“im gonna…finish…if you keep going. i-i don’t want to yet,” he rambles.

he helps you up and pushes you back toward the desk you were sitting on earlier.

you take your rightful seat back and wrap your legs around his waist.

his jeans are still pooled around his ankles, rocket boxers too.

he’s stroking his length now, trying to stay hard for you even though he’s nervous.

“shit. i don’t have a condom,” he groans in frustration.

“that’s okay.”

he nearly short circuits at that.

“are you sure?” he asks, about to start another sentence when you suddenly pull him in with your legs and line him up to your entrance.

he sinks in.

you whine at the stretch.

“so tight, holy,” he groans.

you look up at him and bite your lip to stifle your moans as he starts to thrust into you.

the sound of your bodies fills the room. the slap of skin on skin, the sound of groans and whimpers.

“feel so good, dr. grace,” you moan mischievously.

his eyes roll back in his head.

“d-don’t jinx me,” he jokes between thrusts. “haven’t earned that title yet.”

he thrusts into you harder, deeper still.

you pull him in with your heels pressing against his lower back.

his biceps are bulging as they grip your hips.

“you will, dr. grace,” you moan again.

he groans as his eyes roll back again. his grip on your hips tightens as his thrusts grow wild.

“jesus, you’re gonna kill me saying that.”

he moves a hand to circle your clit, still sensitive from earlier.

you gasp and arch your back, hips rising off the table slightly.

“yeah? that feel good?” he asks, taunting you.

you nod and squeeze your eyes shut.

“eyes on me, yeah? wanna see you when you cum for me,” he instructs, free hand releasing your hip and gripping your face.

you open your eyes, your mascara is smudged.

that does it.

he pulls all the way out of you and slams back in, pinching your clit as he does.

“ryland, ryland,” you babble. “i-i’m gonna c-cum.”

“do it. be a good girl,” he orders.

you do, walls suffocating his cock as you finish.

“where do you want me to…”

“inside,” you moan.

with that, ryland cums inside of you. he cums so much that it’s leaking out of you and dripping onto the table.

after a beat, he pulls out. he cleans you up with a box of tissues he found at the front of the classroom and he helps you slip back into your bottoms.

he cleans himself up and excuses himself to use the restroom.

he walks back into yeh classroom and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“let’s go get ice cream, i know a place,” he suggests.

you nod.

you share a strawberry shake and talk about all of the times you wanted to make a move on each other.

then he takes you to his house. you shower and slip into one of his tees and a pair of his boxers. you sleep better than ever before.

and from now on, you’re inseparable.

:3

[yearningforsolitude]

I feel like Ryland would be so incredibly shy at first in bed, cringing internally at the filthy words that sit on his tongue.

He wants so desperately to give his thoughts a voice, but he doesn’t at first, nervous that they’d come out all wrong and you’d push him off of you right then and there.

It would take some coaxing from you, some time to prove that you want to hear him, but once he’s comfortable?

That man never shuts up!

“Yeah? Right there, sweetheart?” He coos, voice all breathy and syrupy sweet as he watches your reactions to his fingers working you open. Jaw slack, your hand is gripping his bicep tightly and your eyes are half closed in pure bliss as he hits that spot over and over again with ease.

One surprisingly deep push of his fingers has you gasping, fingernails pressing crescents into the soft skin that covers his muscle as you try to ground yourself. “Yeah, that’s it, baby. Right there, that’s what I thought.” He’s absolutely beaming as he watches you begin to fall apart just from his fingers alone, pride curling up deep in his chest as he sees how good he can make you feel.

His lips curl up into a permanent smile and love dances around in his eyes—he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything this beautiful before. You’re completely relaxed in his hold, fully open and giving yourself to him. The connection he feels with you at this point is so deep that he’s sure he’s never felt it with anyone else before.

He can’t help himself, before he knows it he’s leaning in and littering kisses across your face. “My pretty girl.” He whispers between the pecks, lips moving from your cheek up to your eyelid, pressing a soft kiss against the delicate skin. Your eyelashes tickle him as they flutter under his lips. He continues working you up to your climax, fingers pumping in and out of you with purpose.

“You’re doing so good for me.” He hums, lips making their way back down to your own. The direct press of his thumb to your clit has you arching into him, soft cries leaving your lips as he rubs tight circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves. He swallows your cries down like they’re holy—he thinks that maybe if he captures all of them, they can purify him from the inside out. It’s worth a shot.

He knows you’re getting close. He knows you like the back of his hand at this point, what tells your body unknowingly gives him. He can feel it in the way your walls tighten around his fingers, in the way your breaths become shallow and quicker. It pushes him to work harder, to become more focused on pleasing you.

The pumping of his fingers becomes quicker, working to bring you to the edge of that cliff you’re on and throw you over.

Ryland will be there to catch you. He always is.

He pulls away from your face, wanting to be able to take it all in as that coil in your belly finally snaps.

“Come for me. Please, baby? Give it to me. I wanna hear those sweet little sounds you make.” He coaxes you, voice borderline begging now. His thumb continues to press against your clit, the circles he’s drawing against it becoming quicker and more precise, just the way he knows you like it. He watches as your jaw falls open and your body tenses, a high pitched cry clawing its way from your throat as you finally tip over the edge.

“There we go. That’s my girl.” He praises, voice low as he watches in complete awe at the way you fall apart so easily for him, all over his fingers. His dick twitches against his thigh as he takes you in. He thinks he could come in his pants, completely untouched, just from watching you.

He works you through it, his digits continuing to pump into you as you ride down your high. He continues the movements until your thighs begin to twitch from overstimulation, then he slows, fingers and thumb coming to a halt as he makes sure you’ve given him all that you can give.

You’re leaning into him now, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. He catches you, one hand coming around to rub circles against your back as the other finds its way to your head, wiping the sweaty hair from your forehead.

“I’m so proud of you. You did so good for me.” He presses a kiss against the side of your head as he gives you a moment to come back down to him. The room is quiet now, except for the sounds of your breathing that’s beginning to slow.

The two of you sit together in the comfortable silence for a few minutes.

Then,

“Do you think you’re ready for another, honey?”

[lovee-potions]

INTERLOCKED

thinking about clark holding your hand during sex...

tags — 18+ minors dni | f!reader, unprotected sex, clark talks you through it, size kink/difference, pet names (sweetheart & baby), clark calls reader beautiful, creampie (0.8k wc)

clark gently cups your face with his hand—his big palm cradling your jaw. his thumb brushes against your cheek as he stretches you open inch by inch. your breath catches, walls fluttering around him, already feeling full.

his pace is steady, slow but deep, like he’s got all the time in the world. his body engulfs yours, his thighs naturally forcing your body apart for him. your hands are all over him, fingers dragging across heated skin, nails scraping over the hard planes of his back.

“breathe for me, baby,” he rasps, sliding his hand up your arm and weaving his fingers through yours and lacing them together.

you try, you really do, but fuck, the burn—it's sharp, making your thighs tremble and hips jerk. he’s big, ridiculously so and your walls clench around him instinctively, trying to pull him deeper. 

“that’s it, sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear as he brings your joined hands to rest beside your head on the pillow. “taking me so well.”

“mmph—clark!” you moan, feeling his thick, flushed head probe and stretch you to your limit.  

the pleasure is overwhelming as he bottoms out inside you over and over again—dark curls beneath his navel brushing against your clit. clark’s gaze drops, watching where his cock disappears into you, your slick coating him and dripping onto the sheets below.

“doin’ so good f’me,” he pants, hiking one of your legs around his waist. 

the bed frame creaks in time with his thrusts—his cock stretching you open deliciously. his hand tightens against yours, eyes transfixed at the sight of your face contorting in pleasure. your moans spill free, lewd and needy, mixing with the slick sounds of him fucking into you.

“so fuckin’ beautiful,” he mutters, his voice rough.

“clark—!” your voice cracks on his name. 

you feel all of him, every ridge and vein as he rocks into your heat. his thrusts pick up—he’s still holding back but not much as before. you lock your ankles at the base of his spine, heels digging into his back and pulling him in deeper. 

every thrust makes your breath hitch, your body rocking with his. clark dips his head, his lips finding their way to your pulse point—sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there. his hand squeezes yours and the muscles in his forearm constrict as he keeps himself propped up. 

the feeling of his cock is too much, yet somehow, not enough. you arch your back, desperate for more and clark slips his free hand under your lower back to support the curve. the new angle has you moaning in ecstasy and the need for a release becomes greater and greater.

“you close, baby?” he mumbles, sweat dripping down the column of his neck.

unable to stop the gasps tumbling from your lips, you nod dumbly as he fills you over and over again. the rhythmic sound of skin against skin and heavy breathing fills the bedroom with each thrust from clark bringing a new wave of pleasure, leaving you wanting more. 

clark moves his hand from your back and shifts it to your stomach—feeling where he was inside you, how he filled you completely. his palm presses down gently against the bulge of your stomach causing your toes to curl. 

“see that?” clark managed between pants. “that’s all me…”

you feel him throb and pulse inside you as his thumb slides lower and circles your clit. that added stimulation, in time with his thrusts, sends shockwaves down your spine and the sound that slips past your lips is embarrassingly needy.

“i’ve got you, sweetheart,” clark whispers, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you.

you are unbelievably close and one more thrust is all you need before your orgasm washes over you. a broken moan tumbles from your lips as clark fucks you through your orgasm, chasing his own. 

clark’s hand tightens against yours as his thrusts become sloppy—his own orgasm crashing over him. his hips stutter as he buries himself to the hilt and stays there—pulsing hot, thick ropes of cum deep inside you. 

it feels endless—each spurt of cum painting your insides and filling you beyond capacity. you clench around him, your cunt milking every last drop until his cum starts to leak around the base of him, dripping down his balls.

clark rocks his hips lazily into your puffy, swollen cunt, his cock still thick and throbbing. your hips jerk weakly as his thumb continues to rub your clit raw—prolonging your orgasm. 

slowly, clark brings the back of your hand to his lips and kisses it softly as he begins to pull out—your nails leaving crescent marks against his skin. a soft whimper escapes you as he leaves your swollen cunt.

you’re wrecked, and so is he. your cunt misses his cock already, glistening and stretched from taking him so deep. your release mixes with his, sticky strings connecting your folds to his slick, flushed cock.

“easy, baby,” he murmurs, watching you clench around nothing. “i know… i know.”

[heldbybarnes]

reader who starts out quiet during sex, not saying much, mainly breathy sighs and soft moans. bucky who starts out dirty talking constantly or teasing.

reader who is loud as fuck when she gets close, absolutely wailing, screaming things she would never scream if she wasn’t about to cum the hardest she’s ever came. bucky who gets real quiet and grunty when he’s close, all of his concentration going into just fucking you as deep as possible and chasing his high.

just a thought ❤️

- 😼

The room was dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp tucked into the corner of the room. Shadows stretched across Bucky’s broad shoulders as he hovered over you, one vibranium arm braced beside your head while his other hand slid firmly along your thigh, spreading you open beneath him like he couldn’t get enough of the sight. Every movement was slow at first—teasing. The thick drag of him through your slick heat had your breath catching before he’d even fully pushed inside.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your ear, voice rough with restraint. “You’re already this wet for me?”

A shiver rolled through you as he sank deeper inch by inch, stretching you carefully until he bottomed out with a quiet groan. Your fingers curled into the sheets beneath you, lips parting around a soft little moan that barely made it past your throat.

Bucky noticed anyway.

He always noticed.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he pressed a slow kiss beneath your jaw, hips beginning to roll in a lazy rhythm that made your stomach tighten.

“Been thinking about this all day, huh?” he murmured. “Acting all sweet and innocent while your pussy’s been aching for me.”

Heat flooded your face instantly, but all you could manage was another breathy sound when he pulled back and thrust in harder. The headboard tapped softly against the wall behind you, the steady rhythm quickly turning your thoughts fuzzy.

“That’s it,” he praised quietly. “You don’t gotta be loud for me, baby. I know those little sounds.”

You’d never been loud. Even after all this time together, something about letting go completely still made vulnerability creep up your spine. So instead, you gave him soft sighs, shaky breaths, quiet little whimpers that only seemed to drive him crazier.

And Bucky—God—Bucky loved talking.

Loved filling the room with that low gravelly voice while he worked you apart piece by piece beneath him.

“Look at you,” he groaned, mouth brushing your throat. “Taking every inch so pretty.” His metal fingertips skimmed down your side, cool against overheated skin. “You’d let me fuck you anywhere if I asked, wouldn’t you?”

A tiny gasp slipped free when his hips angled differently, the thrust suddenly brushing perfectly against that spot deep inside you.

“There she is,” he muttered with a dark chuckle. “Knew I’d find it.”

Your thighs trembled around his waist as he kept hitting it over and over, steady and unrelenting. The slick sound of him moving inside you filled the room alongside your uneven breathing, and Bucky’s eyes darkened watching the way your face twisted with pleasure.

“So fucking pretty like this,” he rasped. “My quiet girl getting all worked up on my cock.”

The praise only made the ache tighter.

You tried to stay quiet. You really did.

But every filthy word from his mouth chipped away at your restraint little by little until your soft whimpers started growing louder, more desperate.

Bucky noticed that too.

“Oh?” His brows lifted slightly. “Getting louder for me now?”

You hid your face against his shoulder with a small embarrassed sound, and he laughed softly under his breath before kissing your temple.

“Don’t hide.” His hand slid into your hair gently. “I wanna hear you.”

The words settled low in your stomach, hot and dangerous.

Before you could recover, Bucky shifted suddenly, flipping you onto your stomach and pulling your hips up onto your knees. Your breath punched out of you when he pushed back in from the new angle, somehow deeper than before.

“Oh my god—”

“That good?” he groaned.

His hand tangled loosely in your hair while the other gripped your hip hard enough to keep you exactly where he wanted you. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room now, louder, wetter, filthier than before, and every thrust knocked another helpless sound out of you.

“Listen to you,” Bucky muttered thickly. “So pretty when you lose control.”

The pressure in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter until your legs barely felt steady anymore. You buried your face in the pillow, muffling a desperate whine as your body started shaking beneath him.

Bucky immediately caught on.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, voice rougher now. “Get close for me, sweetheart.”

His pace sharpened, every thrust suddenly purposeful, relentless.

“I wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

The coil snapped violently.

A cry tore from your throat before you could stop it, loud and broken and completely unlike the soft little sounds you’d been making all night. Pleasure crashed through you so hard your entire body jerked beneath him, your hands clutching helplessly at the sheets.

“Bucky—fuck—!”

The sound seemed to wreck him instantly.

His head dropped forward with a guttural groan, rhythm faltering for half a second before turning almost desperate. The filthy praise and teasing finally stopped, replaced only by rough breathing and deep strained grunts every time he slammed into you.

You could barely think through the waves of pleasure still hitting you, every nerve ending burning as he fucked you through it relentlessly.

“That’s my girl,” he growled hoarsely. “Fuck, keep making those sounds for me.”

The room blurred around you completely. All you could feel was him—his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, the heat of his chest against your back, the sharp snap of his hips as he chased his own release.

His breathing turned ragged.

Then he buried himself deep with one final thrust and groaned low against your shoulder, body going tense as he came. He stayed pressed flush against you afterward, hips rocking slowly through the aftershocks while both of you struggled to catch your breath.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Bucky laughed softly against your skin, still breathing hard.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped. “Hearing you scream like that almost ruined me.”

Your face burned instantly.

You groaned into the pillow in embarrassment, trying to hide from him, but Bucky only chuckled and carefully pulled you into his chest once he rolled onto his side.

His hand smoothed lazily down your spine while his lips pressed gently against your shoulder—softer now, tender in that way only Bucky could be after absolutely wrecking you.

“You know,” he murmured against your ear, amusement thick in his voice, “I think I finally figured out how to get my quiet girl to talk.”

You buried your face in his neck with another mortified groan, which only made him laugh harder.

“Don’t worry,” he teased softly, pulling you closer. “Next time I’m gonna see if I can get even more outta you.”